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LIBRARY 

umvewmr  Of 

CAUFOftNiA 

SAN  DIEGO 


PICTURES    &    LEGENDS 


FROM 


NORMANDY    &    BRITTANY 


I'lUi    CATHEOKAL,    VANNE.S. 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


FROM 


NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY 


BY 


THOMAS  AND  KATHARINE  MACQUOID 


WITH   THIRTY-FOUR  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW     YORK 

G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

21    AND    29    WEST    23D    STREET 

1881 


TO 

ELIZABETH    CLARKE. 

DEAR  ELIZABETH, 

You  suggested  the  idea  of  "Pictures 
and  Legends  from  Normandy  and  Brittany /"  and  we 
lovingly  dedicate  the  book  to  you,  in  memory  of  your 
true  and  life -long  friendship  for  us  and  for  our 
children. 

Affectionately  yours, 

THOMAS  &  KATHARINE  MACQUOID. 


STANLEY  PLACE,  CHELSEA. 
October  1878. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

FAGR 

Breton  Fountains — The  Fountain  of  Le  Drennec — "  Catherine 

Cloar  and  the  Poulpican "  .  .  .  i 

CHAPTER   II. 

A  Hunt  for  "White   Bread" — A  Breton   Beggar's    Story — 

"  The  Ferry  of  Carnoet "  .  .  .  -9 

CHAPTER   III. 

Quimper — Our  Landlady's  Aunt's  Story — "  The  Two  Neigh- 
bours of  Quimper "    .  .  .  .  .  .28 

CHAPTER   IV. 

Quimperte — Le  Faoue't — The  Story  of  "  The  Miller  and  his 

Lord"  .  .  .  .  .  .  .75 

CHAPTER   V. 
Pont-Aven — "  The  Legend  of  the  Rocking-Stone  of  Tre*gunc  "      92 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Auray— The  Story  of  "The  Bisciaveret"          .  .  .•    144 

I  / 


viii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

PACE 

Vannes — "  The  Glover  of  Vannes "  .  .  .156 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Dinan — The  Duel  between  Bertrand  Du  Guesclin  and  Sir 

Thomas  of  Canterbury — The  Story  of  La  Garaye  .  .     162 

CHAPTER    IX. 

Dol— A  Leeend  of  St.  Christopher— "  The  Old  Woman's 
Cow" — The  Home  of  Chateaubriand — Chateau  Com- 
bourg — Vitre"  .  .  .  .  .  -183 

CHAPTER   X. 

Avranches— A  Brace  of  Characters— The  Story  of  "  The  Pil- 
grimage to  the  Mount"  .  .  .  .  .  199 

CHAPTER   XL 

Castle   of  Falaise— Arlette— Honfleur— Old   Farm-House — 

Pont-Audemer— The  Fourolle — "  Beside  the  Rille"          .     246 

CHAPTER   XII. 

Caudebec— Rouen — St.  Remain  and  the  Dragon—"  A  Waif 
of  the  Woods  "—Chateau  Gaillard  .  .  .  -295 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Drawn  by  Thomas  R.  MacquoiJ. 

PAGE 

CATHEDRAL,  VANNES  .....    Frontispiece 

THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  LE  DRENNEC    ....         2 

FOUNTAIN  NEAR  PONT-AVEN  ....         8 

A  BRETON  CHILD      .  .  .  .  .  .        12 

A  BRETON  BEGGAR    .  .  .  .  .  -15 

SPIRES  OF  CATHEDRAL,  QUIMPER   .  .  .  .29 

OLD  HOUSES,  QUIMPER        .          .          .          .          .31 

MARKET-WOMEN,  QUIMPER  .  .  .  .74 

THE  BRIDGE,  QUIMPERLE    .....       75 

MARKET-HOUSE,  LE  FAOUET  .  .  .  .76 

CHATEAU  OF  HENAN.  .....       92 

ANNIK  ........        94 

GUERIK  .  .  .  .  .  .  .103 

BEEHIVES         .......      109 

THE  BRIDGE,  AURAY  ......      144 

OLD  WOMAN  SPINNING         .          .          .          .          .145 

RUE  DE  JERZUAL,  DINAN      .....      160 

RUINS  OF  THE  ABBEY.  LEHON        .  .  .  .169 

CHURCH,  LEHON        ......      170 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PACE 

THE  CHATEAU  OF  LA  GARAYE        .  .  .  .172 

OLD  HOUSES,  DOL     .           .          .          .          .           .184 

CHATEAU  COMBOURG  .  .  .  .  .194 

OLD  SHOPS,  VITKE    ......      196 

PORCH  OF  CATHEDRAL,  CHARTRES  .  .  .      204 

LA  MERVEILLE,  MONT  S.  MICHEL  .  .  .      236 

BIRTHPLACE  OF  WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR         .  .      246 

MARKET-PLACE,  HONFLEUR  ....      249 

A  NORMAN  FARM-HOUSE     .  .  .  .  .      250 

OLD  HOUSES,  PONT-AUDEMER        ....      262 

MARKET-PLACE,  CAUDEBEC  ....      296 

GRANDE  RUE,  CAUDEBEC      .....      298 

AN  OLD  COURT  IN  ROUEN  .....      299 

MONUMENT  S.  ROMAIN,  ROUEN     ....      303 

CHATEAU  GAILLARD  ......      319 


NOTE. 

SOME  of  the  stories  in  this  book  are  founded  on 
popular  legends  and  traditions,  and  a  few  have  been 
adapted  from  the  tales  told  by  the  story-telling 
beggars  of  Brittany. 


PICTURES   &  LEGENDS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

BRETON  FOUNTAINS— THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  LE  DRENN EC- 
CATHERINE  CLOAR  AND  THE  POULPICAN. 

THE  two  distinguishing  features  of  Brittany  are  its 
dolmens  and  other  stone  relics  of  a  prehistoric  age, 
and  its  ivy-grown  moss-covered  fountains.  These  are 
indescribably  picturesque  ;  they  are  usually  found,  like 
this  fountain  of  Le  Drennec,  embosomed  in  trees, 
against  which  the  deeply-coloured  stone-work  is  well 
relieved.  From  the  joints  of  the  masonry  springs  the 
delicate  lady  -  fern,  and  all  around  is  a  richly  -  hued 
tangle  of  briers  and  brambles,  and  decaying  leaves  of 
varied  tints.  Morning  and  evening  quaint  groups  are 
gathered  round  these  fountains — white-capped,  dark- 
faced,  Breton  women,  with  brass  or  brown  stone  pitchers, 
linger  and  chat  beside  the  clear  flowing  water,  while 
sometimes  a  youth,  or  more  often  an  old  man  with 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


broad-brimmed  hat,  and  long  flowing  locks,  looks  on 
and  sees  them  fill  and  carry  away  the  heavy  weight 
of  water,  but  rarely  offers  to  lighten  their  labour. 

A  great  interest  is  attached  to  these  fountains  from 
the  superstitious  fears  with  which  they  are  regarded. 
Formerly  the  Kerrigans  had  unbounded  power  over 
these  secluded  spots,  and  they  are  supposed  by  the 
peasants  to  have  created  the  fountains,  as  the  dwarfs 
or  Poulpicans  are  believed  to  have  built  the  Dolmens. 

But  in  these  days  a  crucifix,  or  else  that  which  the 
Kerrigan  detests  even  more,  the  image  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  is  almost  always  to  be  found  on  the  fountain,  and 
although  the  fairy  still  visits  the  place  at  evening-tide,  and 
combs  her  long  yellow  hair,  mirrored  in  the  water,  she  is 
no  longer  seen  by  day  as  a  little  old  white-haired  witch, 
with  red  eyes  and  wrinkled  face.  The  Kerrigan  is 
tiny,  like  the  rest  of  her  sisterhood,  and  by  night  she 
appears  under  an  exquisitely  beautiful  form,  clad  only 
in  a  long  white  veil  wrapped  closely  round  her.  This 
fairy  has  a  wonderful  knowledge  of  the  healing  art, 
and  gives  charms,  it  is  said,  to  those  who  believe  in 
her.  Every  year,  at  the  first  burst  of  spring,  she  holds 
high  festival  beside  her  special  fountain.  There,  on  a 
cloth  of  dazzling  whiteness,  are  spread  ethereal  dainties, 
and  in  the  centre  is  a  cup  filled  with  a  liquor  of  which, 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  I.E  DRENNEC. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  3 

so  says  tradition,  a  single  drop  gives  omnipotent 
wisdom  ;  but  at  the  sound  of  a  human  footstep  all 
vanishes  into  space,  and  only  the  bent  grass  blades 
tell  of  the  festival.  The  sight  of  a  priest,  above  all, 
puts  the  sprites  to  immediate  flight  ;  but  woe  to  the 
unlucky  mortal  who  comes  suddenly  on  a  Korrigan 
when  she  is  either  counting  the  hoards  she  stores 
in  the  Dolmens,  or  as  she  lies  combing  her  hair  on 
the  soft  grass  beside  her  fountain.  Woe,  too,  to 
the  youth  or  maiden  who  flings  a  stone  in  the  water  in 
which  the  Korrigan  has  hidden  herself,  especially  if  it 
be  on  a  Saturday  ;  on  that  day,  dedicated  to  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  the  Korrigan  is  especially  spiteful. 

This  fairy  greatly  covets  newly  born  children,  and 
is  skilful  at  exchanging  for  one  of  these  her  own 
hideous  little  Poulpican  or  dwarf.  Souvestre  and 
other  Breton  writers  tell  the  story  of  one  of  these 
changelings  : — 

A  Breton  mother,  named  Catherine  Cloar,  went  out 
thoughtlessly  one  morning,  leaving  her  newly  born 
infant,  a  boy,  in  its  cradle  near  the  open  cottage  door, 
without  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  it,  or  com- 
mending it  to  God's  protection.  A  Korrigan  happen- 
ing to  pass  by,  heard  the  baby  crowing  to  itself.  She 
looked  in  and  saw  a  lovely,  fair,  blue-eyed  child,  and 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


at  once  she  coveted  it.  She  snatched  it  up,  and  placed 
in  the  cradle  her  own  little  son,  who  was  black  and 
more  spiteful  than  a  cat. 

Catherine  Clear  came  home,  but,  owing  to  the 
glamour  thrown  over  it  by  the  fairy,  she  did  not  at 
first  see  any  change  in  her  baby.  After  a  time  she 
began  to  wonder  that  the  child  did  not  grow,  and 
was  so  full  of  spite  and  mischief.  As  soon  as  it  was 
old  enough,  it  was  sent  to  mind  the  cows,  and  it  used 
to  fasten  thorn  branches  under  the  poor  beasts'  tails, 
and  then  to  laugh  heartily  when  they  ran  wildly  about. 

The  poor  mother  was  in  despair ;  she  could  not 
understand  why  her  son  should  be  so  small  of  stature 
and  so  great  in  mischief.  Sometimes  she  would 
say  to  her  husband  as  they  sat  together  beside  the 
hearth, — • 

"  May  Saint  Anne  defend  us,  but  that  child  cannot 
be  our  son  ;  he  has  too  small  a  body,  and  his  wits  are  too 
sharp." 

But  Clear  only  stretched  out  his  huge  hands  to  warm 
at  the  fire,  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  shook  his 
long  hair  out  of  his  eyes,  and  finally  spat  on  the  embers, 
grumbling  something  in  his  beard  ;  it  was  his  way  of 
answering  his  wife,  and  it  drove  her  past  bearing. 

It  happened  one  night  that  the  child  was  left  alone 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  5 

in  the  cottage  ;  there  was  a  storm  of  wind  and  rain,  and 
all  at  once  some  one  tapped  at  the  window,  and  a  gruff 
voice  said, 

"  Have  you  any  beasts  to  sell  ?" 

It  was  the  butcher  of  Vannes,  and  spite  of  the 
storm,  he  wanted  to  see  if  he  could  make  a  bargain. 
He  was  entirely  wrapped  in  a  huge  blue  cloak  which 
covered  him  and  his  horse  and  also  the  calf  that 
he  had  with  him  tied  by  the  legs  in  front  of  him. 
The  Poulpican  peeped  through  the  window,  and  all  at 
once  he  saw  the  three  heads  — the  man's,  the  horse's,  and 
the  calf  s — which  seemed  all  to  grow  out  of  one  body. 

He  shut  the  window  in  a  great  fright,  saying, 

"  I  saw  the  acorn  before  I  saw  the  oak,  but  I  never 
saw  the  like  of  this." 

The  butcher  went  away  astonished  at  such  words 
from  a  child,  and  when  he  next  met  Catherine  Cloar 
he  told  her  what  he  had  heard. 

Her  suspicions  had  by  this  time  grown  so  strong 
that  she  resolved  to  make  them  a  certainty.  She  went 
at  once,  while  the  child  was  out  in  the  fields,  and  bought 
a  hundred  eggs  ;  she  broke  them  all,  and  ranged  the  half 
shells  in  front  of  the  hearth  in  a  long  straight  row,  till 
they  looked  like  a  procession  of  surpliced  priests  at  the 
Ftte  Dieu.  She  had  just  finished  when  she  heard  the 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


voice  of  the  strange  child  singing  quietly  to  himself, 
and  she  hid  behind  the  door. 

He  came  in,  and  when  he  saw  the  egg-shells  he 
muttered — 

"  I  saw  the  acorn  before  I  saw  the  oak,  but  the  like 
of  this  I  never  saw." 

Catherine  had  no  longer  any  doubt,  and  as  soon  as 
her  husband  came  in,  she  took  him  apart  and  told  him 
the  story,  and  they  both  decided  that  the  little  one  was 
a  demon  and  must  be  killed.  They  went  in  and  seized 
the  little  creature,  and  were  going  to  execute  their 
project,  when  the  Kerrigan,  whose  power  made  her 
aware  of  what  they  were  doing,  suddenly  appeared 
leading  a  fine  grown  boy  by  the  hand. 

"  Take  your  son,"  she  said  to  the  parents.  "  I  have 
fed  him  in  the  Dolmen  of  Tir-Tarden  on  roots  and 
cinders — see  how  healthy  and  bright  he  is — and  now 
give  me  back  my  Poulpican." 

"  The  belief  of  the  peasants,"  says  Monsieur  de  la 
Villemarque,  "  is  that  the  Kerrigans  are  the  spirits  of 
native  Celtic  princesses  who,  having  refused  to  embrace 
Christianity  when  it  was  first  preached  in  Armorica,  in- 
curred the  Divine  displeasure.  The  same  hope  for  which 
they  steal  children  makes  them  very  desirous  of  allying 
themselves  with  men  ;  this  is  shown  in  one  of  the  most 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY. 

popular  of  the   Breton  ballads,  The  Sire  de  Nann  and 
the  Fairy. 

There  are  two  fountains  at  Quinipily  near  Baud, 
most  picturesque  in  character,  although  not  so  rich  in 
detail  as  Le  Drennec  some  way  north  of  Brest.  At  St. 
Nicholas  des  Eaux  on  the  Blavet,  one  of  the  most 
quaint  and  primitive  of  Breton  villages,  there  is  a  large 
and  well-preserved  fountain,  wreathed  with  brambles 
and  bright  with  ferns,  which  seems  as  if  it  might  have 
been  in  existence  in  the  days  of  S.  Brieuc  and  S. 
Gildas,  those  two  wonder-working  saints  who  built  their 
hermitage  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river  Blavet,  the 
shrine  of  some  famous  Pardon  or  Pilgrimage. 

Brittany  is  essentially  a  country  of  marvels  and 
miracles,  both  in  the  way  of  saints — St.  Corentin,  St. 
Gildas,  St.  Ronan,  and  St.  Guenole,  and  others  whose 
fame  meets  the  traveller  continually,  either  in  churches 
dedicated  to  them,  or  far  more  often  in  miracles  worked 
in  their  names,  attested  by  pictures  and  legends — or 
in  its  wonderful  stones,  the  Menhirs  and  Dolmens  of 
Carnac  and  Loc-Maria-Ker,  and  other  places  ;  for  these 
giant  marvels  are  scattered  broadly  over  the  province, 
chiefly  in  Morbihan  and  Finistere. 

Many  strange  and  pagan  rites  are  still  secretly 
practised  by  the  peasantry,  dyed  in  a  double  supersti- 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


tion,  around  those  uncouth  and  ancient  relics.  Even 
over  the  traveller,  after  some  stay  among  them,  they 
obtain  a  strange  and  weird  fascination — a  fascination 
that  seems  to  put  him  in  sympathy  with  the  reserved 
and  primitive  people  of  South  Brittany. 


FOUNTAIN    NEAR    PONT-AVEN. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY. 


CHAPTER   II. 

A  HUNT  FOR  "WHITE  BREAD"— A  BRETON  BEGGAR— 
THE  FERRY  OF  CARNOET. 

WE  were  extremely  hungry — famished  is  perhaps  a  truer 
word  — for  we  had  started  from  Landerneau  without 
breakfasting. 

We  wanted  to  see  several  places  of  interest  near 
this  pretty  little  town,  and  we  had  reached  the  inn  so 
late  the  night  before  that  we  had  not  bespoken  any 
provisions  for  our  journey. 

This  morning  when  our  vehicle — a  comfortable- 
looking  machine,  with  a  good  horse,  a  capacious  hood, 
and  a  seat  big  enough  to  hold  three  behind  the  driver 
— came  clattering  over  the  uneven  stones,  our  landlord 
and  his  wife  were  still  asleep.  We  asked  the  name  of 
a  place  to  breakfast  at,  but  both  the  white-capped 
staring  maids  shook  their  heads  ;  they  could  only  speak 
Breton.  We  asked  the  driver,  but  his  French  was  very 
bad,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  comprehend  what  we 
said.  One  of  our  party  understood  Breton  thoroughly, 
but  she  could  only  speak  just  sufficient  to  tell  the  ugly, 


io  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

sullen-faced  fellow  that  we  would  stop  to  breakfast 
wherever  he  could  find  "  white  bread  ;"  for  although 
black  bread  when  new  is  eatable,  it  seems  generally 
stale  and  sour,  and  in  this  state  is  most  unpalatable. 

Off  we  drove,  first  to  see  the  ruins  of  King  Arthur's 
castle  of  La  Garde  Joyeuse.  We  could  only  find  a  pic- 
turesque bit  of  gateway  wreathed  with  ivy,  and  a  sort  of 
vaulted  crypt  into  which  one  of  us  had  nearly  fallen. 
The  driver  was  so  long  in  finding  out  this  ruin  that  we 
began  to  feel  starved,  but  though  we  stopped  at  every 
place  like  an  inn  in  the  villages  we  passed  through,  the 
answer  was  always  the  same — a  shake  of  the  head — when 
the  driver  asked  for  "white  bread."  After  that  we  tried  to 
find  the  ruined  church  of  Beuzitconogan,  in  which  is  the 
tomb  of  Troilus  de  Montdragon,  but  our  driver  either 
could  not  or  would  not  get  into  the  right  road,  so  at 
last  we  gave  up  the  search,  and  told  him  to  drive  on 
till  we  could  find  a  place  to  breakfast  in.  It  was  now 
two  o'clock,  and  we  had  grown  so  faint  and  sick  with 
hunger  that  I  believe,  if  the  villages  we  passed  through 
had  looked  less  squalid  and  dirty,  we  should  have  been 
capable  of  sitting  down  humbly  to  a  meal  of  sour  black 
bread  and  cider.  But  our  driver  gave  us  no  choice  ;  he 
had  a  good  horse,  though  it  was  getting  tired,  and  he 
drove  on  rapidly,  while  we  felt  cross  with  him  and  with 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  u 

one  another,  and  lost  all  interest  in  the  charming  country 
through  which  we  were  hurried. 

A  sudden  turn  in  the  road,  and  we  all  gave  a  shout 
of  joy. 

We  were  in  the  midst  of  a  much  larger  village 
than  any  we  had  yet  passed  through,  but  there  was 
no  sign  of  an  inn  except  that  over  a  squalid-looking 
shed,  with  a  filthy  pool  of  black  mud  in  front,  was 
written,  "  Ici  on  loge  a  pied  et  a  cheval,"  with  its 
Breton  equivalent  beyond. 

But  our  driver,  to  our  joy,  did  not  stop  here,  he 
drove  across  the  wide  stony  street  to  a  long  low  house,  in 
the  window  of  which  were  some  groceries  and  sweeties. 
We  jumped  out  gladly,  and  followed  the  driver  through 
the  low-arched  doorway  into  a  large  room  with  heavy 
black  beams  overhead,  from  which  hung  skins  of  lard, 
bunches  of  herbs,  and  bundles  of  crepes. 

A  very  pleasant-faced  intelligent-looking  woman 
came  forward  to  speak  to  us.  Clinging  shyly  to  her 
apron  was  a  lovely  little  girl  about  six  years  old,  fair- 
skinned,  with  regular  features  and  wonderful  large  dark 
eyes.  Her  head  was  covered  with  a  lilac  cap,  shaped 
like  a  Phrygian  head-piece,  and  fitting  close  in  front. 

The  woman  apologised  and  said  her  house  was  not 
fit  for  us  ;  she  had  white  bread,  but  she  could  only  give 
us  bread,  butter,  and  eggs. 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


"  Capital !  "  we  said,  feeling  ready  to  eat  the  eggs 
with  their  shells. 

"  How  many  shall  I  cook  ?"  she  said  timidly,  looking 
at  the  three  famished  faces. 


A    BRETON    CHILD. 


"  A  dozen  to  begin  with,"  was  the  reckless  answer ; 
and  she  ushered  us  upstairs,  first  into  a  sort  of  village 
club-room,  and  then  into  a  small  bed-room,  the  walls 
of  which  were  covered  with  photographs  and  prints. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  13 

Here  she  spread  a  clean  table  -  cloth  on  a  small 
round  table,  and  on  this  she  placed  a  good  -  sized 
loaf,  a  lump  of  butter,  in  shape  and  size  like  a  man's 
hat,  some  black-handled  knives  and  forks,  and  a  bottle 
of  claret. 

That  was  the  most  delicious  meal  we  ever  ate. 
How  good  that  bread  and  butter  was  !  How  excellent 
that  claret  and  those  eggs !  We  had  boiled  eggs,  fried 
eggs,  oeufs  sur  le  plat — I  am  afraid  to  say  how  many 
eggs  we  swallowed — and  finally,  our  hostess  reappeared 
with  a  tray,  on  which  were  three  cups  full  of  black 
coffee  and  a  small  bottle  of  cognac. 

When  we  had  finished  eating  we  asked  for  the  bill, 
and  then  our  landlady,  shyly  putting  her  hands  behind 
her,  said  she  did  not  know  what  to  ask — would  three 
francs  be  too  much  ? — she  had  never  breakfasted 
gentlefolks  before  ;  two  francs  for  the  eggs  and  bread 
and  butter,  and  one  franc  for  the  claret,  and  twenty- 
five  centimes  each  for  the  coffee  and  the  brandy.  We 
paid  it,  marvelling  at  the  modesty  of  the  charge.  As 
we  followed  her  downstairs,  she  said  an  old  woman  had 
come  in,  who,  she  thought,  would  amuse  us.  She  was 
a  professed  story-teller. 

"  But  can  she  tell  stories  in  French  ?"  we  asked. 

Our  hostess  looked  puzzled,  shrugged  her  shoulders, 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


and  glanced  at  our  friend  who  was  trying  to  talk 
Breton  to  the  pretty  little  girl  clinging  to  her  mother's 
skirts. 

"  Some  of  these  people  have  a  wonderful  store  of 
ballads  and  legends,"  our  friend  said,  "  and  the  beg- 
gars always  tell  the  best  stories.  The  stories  are 
better  than  the  ballads,  which  are  many  of  them 
modern." 

We  all  went  down  the  rough  uneven  stairs  rather 
eagerly.  Our  good  meal  had  given  a  fresh  aspect  to 
life,  and  we  felt  a  new  interest  in  the  journey,  which 
an  hour  ago  had  grown  so  pale  and  uninteresting,  spite 
of  the  glorious  sunshine  overhead  ;  we  felt  ready  for 
any  amount  of  adventures. 

At  one  end  of  the  long,  low,  dark  room  was  the 
immense  open  fireplace,  and  close  in  the  ingle  nook, 
on  an  oaken  bench,  sat  an  old  woman.  She  sat  immo- 
vable, without  turning  her  head  or  seeming  to  be  aware 
of  our  presence.  On  her  head  was  a  dirty  white  linen 
kerchief  tied  tightly  under  her  chin,  and  projecting  so  as 
to  throw  a  deep  shadow  over  her  cruel,  malicious,  green 
eyes  ;  her  bodice  and  sleeves  had  once  been  black,  but 
now  they  were  green  and  rusty,  and  patched  with  other 
colours,  while  numerous  chinks  and  rents  revealed 
a  still  older  and  more  faded  velvet  garment  be- 


FROM  NORM  A  XD  Y  AND  BRITTANY.  1 5 

neath,  which  hung   down   in  shreds  below  her  waist  ; 

her  rough,  dark  skirts  seemed  to  be  dropping  to  pieces, 

—patches  had  been  sewn  on  them  with  yellow  twine,  but 


these  were  breaking  away  from  the  worn-out  stuff, — 
in  front  the  upper  skirt  had  been  completely  torn 
through,  and  was  fastened  together  by  a  huge  brass  pin. 
A  coarse  blue  apron  was  the  least  ragged  part  of  this 


16  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

collection  of  rags  and  patches,  but  it  was  flung  on 
one  side,  as  if  to  display  the  tattered  garments  it  would 
otherwise  have  hidden.  Her  brown  hideous- looking 
feet  were  shod  in  huge  sabots,  bound  with  rusty  metal 
bands  ;  her  hands  were  brown  too,  but  they  looked 
powerful  and  well  fed  ;  there  was  no  starving  aspect 
either  in  her  baggy  brown  cheeks,  \vhich  seemed  pushed 
up  by  the  singularly  long  dark  nostrils.  Her  mouth 
was  a  long  line  across  her  face,  drooping  at  the 
sides,  a  slight  lift  at  each  corner  giving  a  fiendish 
grin  to  the  inscrutable  face  of  this  murderous-looking 
sibyl. 

When  cur  friend  greeted  her  in  Breton,  she  turned 
and  looked  at  her  from  head  to  foot,  then  raising  her 
arm,  she  displayed  a  greasy  -  looking  wallet  at  her 
side,  and  patting  it  with  her  strong  veiny  fingers,  she 
whined  something  in  Breton,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

The  hostess  said  that  she  asked  an  alms  for  the 
love  of  the  Lord  God  and  of  Madam  the  Virgin,  so 
we  all  put  something  into  her  outstretched  palm  ; 
then,  without  looking  at  us,  she  began  a  long  prayer 
for  blessings  on  us  and  on  our  journey,  and  on 
the  place  to  which  we  might  be  going.  We  longed 
to  interrupt  her,  for  we  wanted  a  story,  but  our  hostess 
and  her  children  and  the  driver  stood  listening  as  if 


FROM  NORZfANDY  AND  BRITTANY,  17 

they  believed  the  dirty  old  witch  was  inspired.  All 
at  once  she  asked  abruptly,  "Where  are  they  going?" 
in  a  strong  coarse  voice,  quite  unlike  the  professional 
whine  that  had  gone  before.  Our  hostess  told  her,  in 
Breton,  that  we  were  going  to  Quimper,  and  that,  as 
we  were  strangers,  we  should  thankfully  listen  to  any- 
thing she  might  tell  us  about  that  city. 

She  shut  her  hateful  eyes  at  this  and  shook  her 
head,  but  our  hostess  drew  forward  a  long  oaken 
bench,  and  signed  to  us  to  seat  ourselves. 

Presently  the  crone  raised  her  head,  blinking  her 
wicked  green  eyes  till  she  looked  just  like  an  old 
cat. 

"  Kemper-Corentin,  Kemper-Corentin."  Her  voice 
had  a  sort  of  nasal  drawl  as  she  repeated  the  words  to 
herself.  She  shook  her  head  again,  and  looked  into 
the  fire. 

"  We  are  going  on  to  Quimperle,  to  Pont-Aven, 
and  to  Tregunc,"  our  friend  said  to  her  in  Breton. 

"  Ah ! "  The  hostess  bent  down  over  the  old 
woman.  We  heard  the- words  Kemperle  and  Tregunc, 
and  we  saw  her  point  to  a  cauldron  suspended  over 
the  wood-fire  on  the  hearth.  The  beggar  nodded, 
thrust  one  hand  into  the  pot  and  pulled  out  a  potato. 

Then  she  proceeded  to  tear  the  skin  off  with  her  long 

C 


1 8  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

black  nails,  and  when  it  was  skinned,  she  crammed  it 
nearly  whole  into  her  mouth.  Our  hostess  nodded  and 
winked  at  us.  "  Wait  till  she  has  eaten  it,"  she  said 
in  French. 

"  Maharit,"  the  old  woman  said,  looking  at  the 
little  girl.  The  child  seemed  to  understand  her  by 
instinct.  She  went  up  to  the  huge  black  table,  pulled 
at  the  half  open  drawer,  and  came  back  with  a  dirty 
mug  half-full  of  buttermilk.  The  old  woman  drank 
this  greedily,  drew  her  hand  across  her  lipless  mouth, 
and  then  began  a  sort  of  low  chant,  seemingly  addressed 
to  the  fire.  As  she  went  on  her  voice  grew  earnest, 
but  the  words  being  Breton  we  could  not  understand 
them  ;  but  afterwards,  when  our  friend  told  us  the  story 
the  old  woman  had  related,  we  could  feel  how  graphic 
the  narration  had  been,  and  how  completely  in  the 
telling  she  had  identified  herself  with  the  distraught 
Guern  and  his  lost  love. 

Wyz  jfercp  of  Carnoen 

THE  river  Laita,  which  leads  from  Quimperle*  to  the 
ancient  monastery  of  St.  Maurice,  flows  along  the 
border  of  the  forest  of  Carnoet,  and  through  a  long 
series  of  beautiful  meadows.  Clumps  of  pines  chest- 


FROM  NORM  A  ND  Y  AND  BRITTANY.  1 9 

nuts,  and  other  trees  adorn  the  charming  banks  of  this 
river,  and  offer  abundant  subjects  to  both  poet  and 
painter. 

In  some  parts  the  banks  are  very  lofty,  and  the 
trees  completely  overhang  the  water,  so  that  under 
their  cool  shade  the  fisherman  avoids  the  noontide 
heat  and  takes  his  siesta  in  comfort. 

About  a  league  below  Quimperle  is  the  ferry  of 
Carnoet.  Some  portions  of  the  old  chateau  of  Carnoet 
still  remain,  and  tradition  says  that  this  building  was 
one  of  the  many  residences  of  the  infamous  Count 
Commore  (the  Bluebeard  of  Brittany),  who  is  said  to 
have  murdered  his  numerous  wives. 

On  the  banks  of  the  river  an  old  oak  stands  at 
some  distance  from  the  ferry,  its  almost  branchless 
trunk  leans  far  over  the  stream  and  looks  as  if  it  must 
fall  into  the  water.  It  is  a  very  ancient  tree,  and  a 
weird  legend  is  attached  to  it. 

Many  years  ago  there  lived  in  the  village  of 
Clohars  a  young  couple  called  Guern  and  Maharit ;  they 
were  betrothed,  and  were  to  be  married  two  days  after 
the  "  Pardon  of  the  birds,"  which,  as  every  one  knows, 
happens  every  year  in  the  month  of  June  at  the 
entrance  of  the  forest  of  Carnoet. 

One   evening   after  sunset  the   lovers  came  home 


20  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

from  a  visit  to  some  relations  in  the  parish  of  Guidel  ; 
when  they  reached  the  ferry  of  Carnoet,  Guern  shouted 
for  the  ferryman. 

"  Wait  for  me,  Maharit,"  he  said,  "  while  I  go  and 
light  my  pipe  at  my  godfather's  cottage ;  it  is  close  by." 

The  boatman  of  the  ferry  was  a  mysterious  being 
who  lived  alone  in  a  hut  beside  the  river.  Strange 
stories  were  told  of  him.  It  grew  darker  and  darker, 
and  Maharit  felt  timid  at  the  thought  of  being  left 
alone.  "  Do  not  be  long  away,  Guern,"  she  said. 

"  I  will  be  back,  my  beloved,  before  you  are  in  the 
boat,"  and  he  ran  away.  The  ferryman  soon  appeared  : 
he  was  tall  and  wild-looking,  and  long  grey  hair  floated 
over  his  shoulders. 

"  Who  wants  me  ?"  he  growled.  "  It  is  too  late. 
Are  you  alone  maiden  ?" 

"  Loi'k  Guern  is  coming  ;  he  has  only  gone  to  light 
his  pipe." 

"  He  must  be  quick  then  ; — get  into  the  boat,"  said 
the  ferryman  impatiently. 

The  girl  obeyed  mechanically,  but  she  was  surprised 
and  frightened  to  see  the  ferryman  jump  and  push  the 
boat  off  from  the  bank  without  a  moment's  delay. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  my  friend  ?"  she  cried.  "  We 
must  wait  for  Lolk  Guern,  I  tell  you." 


FROM  NORM  A  ND  Y  AND  BRITTA  A  F.  21 

There  was  no  answer,  and  now  the  boat  reached 
the  current,  but  instead  of  passing  across  to  the  oppo- 
site shore  they  shot  rapidly  down  the  river. 

"Stop,  stop,  my  friend,  for  pity's  sake!"  cried 
Maharit  in  an  agonised  voice.  "  We  must  go  back  ; 
what  will  Loi'k  Guern  say  to  such  folly?"  She 
clasped  her  hands  imploringly;  but  the  ferryman  neither 
spoke  nor  looked  at  her,  and  the  boat  still  impelled 
forward,  descended  the  river  more  and  more  rapidly. 

Maharit  bent  towards  the  shore.  "  Loi'k,  Loi'k," 
she  cried.  The  words  died  away  on  her  lips,  for  she 
saw  shadowy  forms  standing  on  the  gloomy  banks  ; 
they  stretched  their  arms  towards  her  with  menacing 
gestures,  and  she  drew  back  shuddering.  She  knew 
these  were  the  spirits  of  the  murdered  wives  of  Commore. 
Maharit  uttered  a  loud  cry  and  fell  lifeless  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat. 

Loi'k  Guern  lit  his  pipe,  said  a  few  words  to  his 
godfather,  and  hastened  back  to  the  ferry.  But 
Maharit  was  gone,  and  the  boat  was  gone  too  !  He 
gazed  anxiously  across  the  river,  and  up  and  down  its 
banks,  now  cold  and  sombre  in  the  gathering  darkness. 
There  was  no  sound  or  sign  of  living  thing. 

"Maharit,  Maharit,"  he  cried,  "where  art  thou?" 
From  far  away  a  cry  came  to  him  on  the  night  breeze. 


22  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

At  that  moment  the  boat  disappeared  round  a  turn  in 
the  river. 

"  Maharit,  Maharit ;  Pere  Pouldu,"  shouted  Guern. 

Suddenly,  from  amidst  the  tall  weeds  and  rushes 
near  the  ferry,  rose  up  the  gaunt  figure  of  an  old 
beggar  woman. 

"  You  waste  your  breath,  young  man,"  she  said. 
"  The  boat  and  those  in  it  are  already  far  from  here," 
and  she  pointed  down  the  river. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  mother  ?  What  has  happened 
to  Maharit  ?" 

"  The  young  girl  is  gone  to  the  shores  of  the  de- 
parted ;  she  forgot  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  when 
she  got  into  the  boat,  and  she  also  looked  behind  her." 

"  You  are  mad,"  cried  the  peasant  impatiently. 
"  Go  to  the  devil  with  your  old  wives'  tales." 

He  did  not  wait  for  an  answer  ;  he  set  off  running 
like  a  madman  along  the  river  banks  in  the  direction 
the  old  woman  had  pointed  out,  waking  the  silence  of 
the  night  with  cries  for  his  beloved  Maharit. 

"  Come  back  to  me,"  he  cried,  "  come  back."  But 
all  in  vain. 

At  daybreak  Guern  returned  worn  out  and  weary 
to  his  village.  He  went  to  the  parents  of  the  young 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  23 

girl — to  her  friends.  He  asked  tidings  of  Maharit  of 
every  one  he  met,  but  he  could  gain  no  news  of  her, 
she  had  not  been  seen. 

He  passed  the  next  three  days  in  wild  despair, 
searching  for  his  beloved  in  the  neighbouring  villages 
and  through  the  forest.  Towards  evening,  on  the  third 
day,  he  sat  down  on  a  rock  beside  the  river,  overcome 
with  grief  and  fatigue.  Suddenly  the  old  beggar 
woman  stood  before  him.  He  had  not  heard  her 
approach  ;  she  seemed  to  spring  out  of  the  earth. 

"  Well,  my  poor  little  Guern,  hast  thou  found  thy 
beloved  ?  hast  thou  seen  Maharit  ?" 

"  Alas,  no,  mother  !  May  the  good  God  have  pity 
on  me,  I  am  heart-broken,"  he  said  with  tears  in 
his  eyes.  "  Have  you  news  of  the  sweet  child  ?  Tell 
me,  for  Christ's  dear  sake  !  Speak  quickly,  mother.  We 
only  waited  for  the  pardon  of  Toul-Foen  to  become 
man  and  wife." 

"  I  have  told  you  all  I  know,  my  poor  Guern.  The 
child  forgot  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  when  she 
got  into  the  boat,  and  she  spoke  and  looked  behind 
her,  and  this  gave  the  cruel  ferryman  power  over  her, 
and  he  has  taken  her  to  the  shores  of  the  '  departed.' " 

"Where  is  this  accursed  shore  of  the  dead  ?" 

"  Ah,  my  poor  Guern,  blaspheme  not,"  interrupted 


24  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

the  old  woman.  "  It  is  a  secret  from  Christians  ;  it  is 
the  secret  of  the  sorcerer  Milliguet — he  personates  the 
ferryman  ;  he  conducts  the  boat  from  this  haunted 
spot,  and  loses  many  souls.  Yes,  he  is  powerful  ;  but 
those  whom  Jesus  loves  are  able  to  overcome  him — and 
the  charitable  are  always  blessed  by  God.  I  am  only 
a  poor  old  woman,  Loi'k  Guern.  I  am  hungry — I  am 
very  hungry." 

"  My  poor  mother,"  said  the  young  peasant, 
"  here  is  some  bread — take  it.  I  care  for  nothing 
since  I  lost  Maharit,"  and  he  burst  into  tears  as  he 
gave  her  his  black  loaf. 

"  Thank  you,  Guern.  Ah,  what  a  good  heart  you 
have  !  You  are  a  good  Christian,  and  if  you  do  as  I  bid 
— and  if  it  is  the  will  of  God — you  may  release  Maharit." 

"  The  Holy  Virgin  reward  you,"  said  the  poor 
fellow ;  and  he  looked  up  with  hope  in  his  eyes. 
"What  shall  I  do,  mother?" 

"  You  must  first  cut  a  branch  of  holly,  and  you 
must  cut  it  at  midnight,  in  the  village  of  the  Korrigans. 
You  know  where  it  is,  in  the  forest  underneath  the  spot 
called  '  the  Stag's  Leap.'  Dip  this  holly  branch  in  the 
holy  water-stoup  at  the  chapel  of  St.  Leger,  then  at 
dusk  go  with  it  to  the  ferry." 

"  Yes,  my  mother,"  said  Guern,  eagerly.  "  And 
what  next  ?" 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  25 

"  Be  patient,  my  son."  She  raised  her  shrivelled 
hand  warningly.  "  You  must  then  call  the  ferryman. 
This  fellow  has  sold  himself  to  the  evil  one,"  she 
went  on,  "  and  when  you  have  got  into  the  boat,  be 
sure  you  do  not  look  about  or  behind  you,  for  every 
night  the  banks  of  the  river  are  haunted  by  the  dead 
wives  of  Commore,  and  their  cries  and  gestures  will 
trouble  your  reason.  You  will  neither  see  nor  hear 
them  unless  you  look  about  or  behind  you.  You  must 
tell  your  beads  diligently,  and  above  all  you  must  make 
the  sign  of  the  cross  reverently  ;  and  when  you  have 
come  to  the  thirty-third  bead  of  your  rosary — the 
thirty-third  you  understand — 

"  Yes,  my  mother,  yes,"  said  the  young  man  breath- 
lessly. 

"  You  must  raise  the  blessed  holly  branch  and 
show  it  to  the  ferryman,  and  then  in  the  name  of 
Christ  command  him  to  take  you  living  to  the  shores 
of  the  dead.  Miliguet  will  tremble  at  the  sight  of 
the  holly  branch,  and  his  power  will  leave  him,  and 
he  will  obey  you.  Do  you  remember  all  I  have  told 
you,  Loi'k  Guern  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  mother,  and  what  will  be  the  end  ?" 

"  I  see  no  farther,"  she  said.  "  I  can  tell  you 
nothing  more,  my  son.  Do  exactly  as  I  bid  you,  and 
wait  in  hope  for  the  end." 


26  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

She  disappeared  as  suddenly  as  she  had  come, 
leaving  Guern  full  of  eager  hope. 

At  midnight,  he  found  his  way  to  the  village  of 
the  Kerrigans.  Close  by  the  Stag's  Leap  he  cut  a 
branch  of  holly,  and  then  he  went  off  to  the  chapel  of 
St.  Leger,  dipped  the  holly  in  the  blessed  fountain, 
and  earnestly  entreated  the  aid  of  the  saint. 

The  next  evening  at  sunset  he  went  alone  to  the 
ferry  of  Carnoet,  keeping  the  holly  branch  carefully 
hidden  under  his  long  jacket. 

"  Hola  !   Pere  Pouldu,  ferry,  ferry!  "  he  shouted. 

The  ferryman  came,  and  Guern  got  into  the  boat 
without  a  word.  There  was  deep  silence,  only  broken 
by  the  plash  of  the  ferryman's  oars  in  the  water.  At 
first  Guern  began  to  tell  his  beads  silently,  but  with 
fervour  ;  but  by  the  time  the  boat  had  reached  the 
middle  of  the  river  he  was  so  overcome  by  the 
remembrance  of  his  lost  Maharit  that  he  forgot  his 
prayers  and  the  old  woman's  caution  ;  he  looked  behind 
him,  the  string  of  beads  slipped  from  his  trembling 
hands  and  fell  into  the  water. 

Instantly  loud  cries  resounded  along  the  banks, 
and  the  boat,  drawn  into  the  current,  turned  and 
dashed  down  the  river  with  frightful  rapidity. 

Guern  roused  himself,  and  remembered  the  -holly 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  27 

branch  ;  he  drew  it  forth  and  waved  it  before  the  silent 
ferryman. 

"  Conduct  me  to  the  shores  of  the  departed,"  he 
cried  ;  "  take  me  to  my  betrothed."  But  in  his  agita- 
tion he  forgot  to  say  the  word  "  living? 

The  boatman  took  no  heed  ;  the  boat  drove  on. 
Then,  with  an  impulse  over  which  he  had  no  control, 
Guern  in  wild  despair  struck  the  ferryman  with  the 
consecrated  branch. 

The  strange  man  uttered  a  terrible  cry — threw  down 
his  oars — and  plunged  into  the  dark  water.  Still  the 
boat  drove  madly  on — on — on  !  Guern  could  never  tell 
how  long — till  it  struck  with  awful  violence  against  a 
rock  and  was  dashed  to  pieces  beneath  a  gnarled  oak 
that  bent  over  the  river. 

For  years  afterwards,  at  all  the  pardons  of  Clohars, 
of  St.  Leger  and  their  neighbourhood,  was  to  be  seen 
a  pale  distracted-looking  man  who  ran  hither  and  thither 
among  the  crowd.  He  cried  out  piteously,  while  tears 
ran  down  his  furrowed  cheeks,  "  Ah,  my  friends  ;  ah, 
for  the  love  of  God  and  the  saints,  take  me  to  the 
shores  of  the  dead  !" 

The  young  people  used  to  look  at  him  with  surprise 
and  pity,  but  the  older  folk  only  shook  their  heads 
and  said  "  It  is  the  poor  madman  of  the  ferry  ;  it  is 
Lork  Guern." 


28  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


CHAPTER   III. 

QUIMPER— OUR  LANDLADY'S  AUNT'S  STORY  — "THE  TWO 
NEIGHBOURS  OF  QUIMPER." 

NEXT  day  when  we  reached  Quimper  we  wondered  that 
old  Barba — for  we  found  that  her  name  was  Barba 
Keroes — had  had  no  story  to  tell  us  about  this  most  quaint 
and  picturesque  of  Breton  towns.  It  may  certainly  be 
considered  the  capital  of  Finistere,  and  seems  to  contain 
in  its  aspect,  its  people,  and  their  costumes,  the  very 
essence  of  all  that  is  Breton — la  vraie  Bretagne  breton- 
nante.  Lounging  in  front  of  our  comfortable  inn  on 
the  banks  of  the  Odet  we  told  our  landlady  about  old 
Barba  and  her  stories. 

"  There  are  many  tales  about  Quimper,  too,"  she 
said.  "  I  suppose  you  know  all  about  King  Gradlon 
and  St.  Corentin,  and  about  Fontenelle  and  his  attack." 

Yes  ;  we  had  heard  all  these  stories — in  fact  we  had 
grown  rather  tired  of  King  Gradlon  and  the  drowning  of 
Ker-Is,  having  heard  so  much  about  it  at  Douarnenez. 

The  landlady  looked  back  at  her  room  on  the  left 
of  the  entrance.  "  My  old  aunt  there,"  she  smiled 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  29 


incredulously,  "  is  a  true  Breton,  and  she  has  some  strange 


SPIRES   OF   CATHEDRAL,    QU1MPER. 


legends ;    one,    which    I    suppose    is    true,    about   the 
Cathedral,  though  it  seems  hard  to  believe." 


30  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  Why  do  you  suppose  it  to  be  true  ? "   I  asked. 

"  Ah,  Madame !  it  must  be  true — when  you  go  to  see 
our  Cathedral — and  I  can  tell  you  it  is  worth  going  to 
see, — in  a  side  chapel  on  the  left  side  you  will  be  shown 
a  picture  that  tells  the  end  of  my  aunt's  story.  Come 
in,  come  in,  Mesdames,  and  talk  to  her — she  is  as  deaf 
as  a  post  ;  but  she  can  tell  you  her  story  in  French." 

We  went  in  out  of  the  sunshine  and  found  the  little 
aunt  half-asleep  in  a  low  chair.  She  was  a  tiny,  frail- 
looking  dark-eyed  woman  ;  very  clean  and  neat,  but  so 
shy  and  nervous  that  she  formed  a  striking  contrast  to 
Barba  Keroes.  And  she  told  her  story  in  quite  another 
manner  ;  in  a  monotonous  feeble  sing-song  that  almost 
robbed  it  of  all  interest. 


of  thumper* 

CHAPTER  I. 

ON  THE  MARKET-PLACE. 

LONG  AGO,  centuries  before  its  two  graceful  spires 
adorned  the  cathedral  of  St.  Corentin,  Jehan  Kergrist 
and  Olivier  Logonna  were  the  firmest  pair  of  friends  in 
the  fair  city  of  Quimper.  For  Ouimper  must  always 
have  been  a  fair  city  ;  even  at  this  distance  of  time,  so 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY. 


OLD   HOUSES,    QUIMPER. 


much  of  the  moss  of  a  former  age  clings  about  its  quaint 
market-place  ;    on    its   tree-shaded    quays  ;     its    rivers 


32  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

where  old  grey  gabled  and  towered  houses  look  down 
at  their  own  reflections  in  the  water  below — and,  chief 
of  all,  in  its  grey  old  streets — that  it  is  easy  to  call  up 
a  picture  of  the  past,  more  especially  on  market-days, 
when  the  costumes  and  language  of  the  people  who 
come  in  crowds  from  the  surrounding  country  are  little 
different  from  what  they  were  many  hundred  years  ago. 

There  is  a  market  to-day,  and  Jehan  and  Olivier  are 
chatting  together  as  they  stroll  among  the  booths  and 
stalls.  Suddenly  they  stand  still.  The  eyes  of  both  fix 
in  one  direction,  and  each  man  is  seemingly  so  interested 
in  what  he  sees  that  he  does  not  ask  his  companion  the 
reason  of  the  sudden  silence  that  has  come  between 
them. 

A  tall  lay  Sister  is  buying  cabbages  at  the  vegetable 
stall  opposite.  She  takes  up  first  one  and  then  another 
of  the  huge  heads  so  like  immense  green  roses,  lays 
them  in  her  flat  palms  and  poises  them  carefully.  Then 
she  smiles  down  at  her  companion. 

"  Thou  art  no  judge  of  cabbages,  little  one,"  she 
says,  "  or  I  should  ask  thee  to  see  how  much  difference 
there  can  be  between  two  vegetables  which  to  the  eye 
look  the  same." 

There  is  a  smile  on  her  companion's  face,  but  the 
smiles  of  age  and  youth  are  as  unlike  as  the  cabbages 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  33 

in  question.  Sister  Ursula's  smile  creases  the  corners  of 
her  mouth  and  wrinkles  her  sallow  face,  while  the  smile 
of  Frangoise  Nevez  dimples  and  makes  her  pensive  face 
beautiful. 

"  Sister  Ursula,"  she  says  playfully,  "  is  it  not  so 
with  men  and  women  ?  Some  who  look  one  as  good 
as  another  are  really  quite  different." 

A  flush  comes  on  Sister  Ursula's  pale  face. 

"  It  may  be  so  with  women,  my  child,"  she  says 
hastily.  "  Of  men  and  their  ways  I  know  nothing, 
God  be  thanked,"  and  she  crosses  herself  devoutly. 

Francoise  laughed  ;  but  men  being  a  forbidden 
topic  and  cabbages  not  specially  interesting,  she  looked 
round  in  search  of  amusement,  and  she  met  the  full 
gaze  of  the  two  friends. 

She  shrank  from  being  stared  at,  and  so  bright 
a  colour  rose  in  her  face  that  Sister  Ursula  saw  it, 
and  being  much  accustomed  to  the  charge  of  the 
young  girls  educated  at  the  convent  of  Locmaria,  in  a 
moment  she  had  discovered  the  cause. 

"  Come,  come,  my  daughter,"  she  said  anxiously, 
"  it  is  time  for  us  to  go  home.  Annik  has  all  we  want 
in  her  basket ;  she  can  follow  us." 

She  looked  round  at  a  stout,  black-browed,  bare- 
footed serving -maid,  whose  square -topped  close  linen 


34  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

cap,  not  unlike  a  sugar-bag,  set  off  her  red  cheeks  and 
showed  her  to  be  an  inhabitant  of  Quimper  itself;  the 
cap  was  far  less  picturesque  than  some  of  the  other 
headpieces  worn  by  Pont-1'Abbe  and  Pont-Aven  women, 
and  also  by  those  of  the  other  towns  and  villages  who 
brought  their  goods  to  the  Great  Square  of  Quimper 
on  market-day. 

But  Franqoise  lagged  behind — at  last  she  looked 
back  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Sister  Ursula,"  she  said  shyly,  "  did  you  see  those 
two  youths  near  us  just  now  ?" 

"  Well,  what  of  them  ?  they  are  just  like  other  men." 
Sister  Ursula  spoke  sharply.  She  had  looked  on  men 
all  her  life  as  incarnations  of  evil.  It  disturbed  her 
that  her  favourite  Franqoise  should  waste  a  thought  on 
such  godless  mortals. 

"  But  one  of  them  is  Monsieur  Jehan  Kergrist  ;  I 
am  sure  it  is  he.  He  used  to  come  and  see  me  at  my 
godfather's,  and  we  used  to  play  in  the  garden  together, 
and — and  my  godfather  loved  him  dearly."  She  blushed 
again  ;  she  remembered  that  Jehan  had  always  called 
her  his  little  wife.  "  Yes,  I  am  sure  it  is  Jehan,  though 
he  is  altered."  She  looked  over  her  shoulder  again. 

"  C.'ome,  come  along,  my  child  ;  we  are  late  already." 
Sister  Ursula's  face  puckered  with  anxiety.  What 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  35 

would  the  Abbess  think,  or  Sister  Clara,  the  mistress 
of  the  novices,  if  she,  Ursula,  who  had  always  been 
looked  on  as  the  best  watch-dog  the  convent  possessed, 
suffered  Francoise  Nevez — the  fairest,  and  in  expectancy 
the  richest,  ward  of  the  community — to  look  after  a 
young  man  in  the  market-place  of  Quimper  ?  "  Is  the 
child  in  love?"  she  asked  herself. 

What  love  might  be  Ursula  did  not  know  ;  but  she 
believed  it  to  be  a  species  of  Evil  Eye  or  glamour  cast 
by  men — always  incarnations  of  evil — on  hapless  girls, 
whom  it  usually  led  to  misery  and  perdition,  especially 
if  the  girls  chanced  to  be  rich  and  handsome. 

Old  Marie,  the  sieve-seller,  had  loitered  over  a 
bargain  she  was  making  to  watch  the  little  incident  just 
recorded.  The  young  men  stood  near  her,  and  she  had 
noted  the  direction  of  their  eyes.  When  Franchise 
looked  over  her  shoulder  at  Jehan  Kergrist,  the  old 
woman  clapped  her  hands  and  laughed  out  loud. 

"  Thou  art  in  luck,  my  son,"  she  said  to  Jehan  ; 
"  that  backward  glance  was  for  thee."  She  looked 
mockingly  at  Olivier  Logonna,  who  was  frowning  till 
his  black  brows  met  over  his  narrow  blood-shot  eyes. 

"  Silence,  old  fool,"  he  said.  "  How  can  a  blind  old 
beetle  like  you  pretend  to  say  which  of  us  Mademoiselle 


36  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

Nevez  saw  when  she  looked  back  just  now  ?  That  old 
dragon  of  a  sister  was  scolding  her,  I  swear." 

"  Holy  Virgin  !"  Marie  crossed  herself,  and  Jeanne 
Pichon,  who  was  haggling  over  a  sieve,  also  crossed 
herself,  and  shook  her  linen-capped  head  vigorously; 
"  dragon  is  no  name  for  good  Sister  Ursula.  Fie  for 
shame,  young  man  !  Are  you  a  heretic,  or  has  Satan 
himself  taken  hold  on  you,  that  you  can  so  speak  of  a 
holy  sister  of  the  sainted  Cross  ?" 

"  Mind  your  sieves,  you  old  crow,"  Olivier  said 
savagely. 

Jehan  looked  in  wonder  at  his  friend,  and  he  pulled 
his  arm  to  draw  him  farther  from  the  gossips. 

"  Be  quiet,  Kergrist," — Olivier  looked  still  more 
angry.  "  You  will  tear  the  braid  off  my  sleeve  with 
your  violence.  Go,  if  you  want  to  go,"  he  threw  his 
arm  from  him  rudely.  "  I  am  in  no  such  haste  to  leave 
the  market." 

Jehan  looked  surprised,  then  annoyed  ;  but  Marie's 
two  companions  began  to  giggle  at  the  quarrel  between 
the  friends.  Jehan  bit  his  lip  and  walked  across  the 
market-place  to  a  gabled  house  behind  the  cathedral. 

As  he  passed  in  through  the  low  round-headed 
doorway,  the  light  streamed  into  the  shop,  and  showed 
its  dark  oak-panelled  walls  and  carved  presses  full  of 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  37 

merchandise.  An  inner  door  facing  the  entrance  stood 
open  and  revealed  the  massive  staircase  pillar  with  carved 
figures  of  saints  guarding  every  landing,  and  a  wealth 
of  quaint  masks  and  scrollwork  between.  The  kitchen 
was  screened  off  on  the  left  from  the  staircase  by  a 
carved  partition  of  black  oak  about  ten  feet  high  ;  the 
stone  walls  on  each  side,  except  at  the  staircase  opening, 
went  up  without  any  intervening  ceiling  to  the  skylight 
above.  Jehan  went  on  hurriedly  beyond  staircase  and 
kitchen  to  a  small  richly  furnished  room.  He  closed 
the  door  behind  him,  turned  the  quaintly-worked  key 
in  the  massive  lock,  and  then  sat  down  before  an  old 
desk  and  rested  his  head  on  his  hands. 

"  I  did  not  know  it,"  he  said  sadly  ;  "  and  yet,  now  I 
think  over  the  last  few  days,  I  might  have  known  it — 
Olivier  loves  FranQoise.  What  can  I  do  ?  I  would 
give  my  own  life  for  him,  and  yet  I  cannot  give  up  my 
hopes." 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  but  he  soon 
looked  up  again,  and  there  was  a  smile  on  his  honest 
face  ;  he  was  not  nearly  so  handsome  as  Olivier — there 
was  a  heavy  squareness  about  his  features,  but  his  eyes 
were  dark  and  sweet. 

"  It  must  be  so,"  he  said.  "  I  never  saw  him  so 
moved  ;  he  is  always  so  staid  and  discreet.  But  I  have 


33  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

loved  her  all  my  life,"  he  went  on.  "  I  know  it  now, 
and  Olivier  has  only  seen  her  by  chance — two  or  three 
times  in  the  market-place — he  has  not  even  spoken  to 
her,  and  he  is  always  taken  up  with  the  last  new  face." 
He  paused  again,  and  a  downcast  look  saddened  his 
face.  "  It  may  be  that  Franqoise  would  like  him  best  ; 
girls  are  apt  to  like  men  who  have  had  successes  with 
women  better  than  us  simple  fellows  who  only  care  for 
earnest  honest  love.  But  I  will  not  be  faint-hearted. 
Let  us  both  try  ;  we  are  each  rich  enough  to  marry, 
thanks  to  the  thrift  and  skill  of  our  parents,  and 
Fran9oise  shall  choose  for  herself.  After  all,  I  can  but 
remain  single  for  her  sake — her  happiness  is  the  chief 
thing — sweet  child." 


CHAPTER  II. 

GODFATHER  PICARD. 

THE  Abbess  of  the  Convent  of  Holy  Cross  had  risen 
from  her  high-backed  oak  chair,  and  was  moving  towards 
the  door  of  her  room.  She  stopped  and  turned  round. 
"  Good  day,  Monsieur  Picard  ;"  she  bowed  stiffly  to 
her  visitor.  "As  you  specially  require  it,  I  will  send 
the  child  to  you,  though  you  might  have  trusted  to  me 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  39 

to  find  out  her  wishes,  since  you  consider  that  her 
inclination  is  to  be  studied." 

The  Abbess  was  a  tall  fine  woman  with  a  noble 
face,  so  pale  that  it  scarcely  seemed  made  of  flesh  and 
blood,  but  the  smile  that  came  with  her  words  gave  her 
a  sarcastic,  almost  a  cruel,  expression. 

Jean  Picard's  broad  red  face  grew  crimson,  and  his 
heavy  brows  met  in  a  frown. 

"  Undoubtedly  I  do,  Madame,"  he  said  sternly.  "  I 
married  for  love  myself,  and  I  never  repented  my  act. 
Why  shouldn't  this  poor  little  girl — as  good  as  a  child 
to  me — have  the  same  luck  ?" 

"  Luck  is  a  false  word,  sir," — her  smile  grew  pitying, 
— "  luck  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  children  of  Holy 
Church.  Good  morning,  Monsieur  Picard." 

She  went  out  of  the  rocfrn,  her  thick  woollen  robes 
filling  up  the  doorway  as  she  passed  through.  As  soon 
as  the  door  shut  behind  her,  Monsieur  gave  a  sigh  of 
relief  and  sat  down  in  the  Abbess's  chair. 

"  She's  a  good  woman,  that  I  doubt  not ;  but  she 
has  an  eye  to  business,"  he  said  crossly.  "  She's  not 
the  saint  my  little  Frangoise  makes  her  out  to  be.  The 
Abbess  knows  as  well  as  I  do  that  Olivier  Logonna  is 
a  richer  man  now,  and  likely  to  be  in  the  future  a 
much  richer  man  than  Jehan  Kergrist  can  ever  be.  and 


40  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

she  foresees  that  there  will  be  more  to  be  made  for  the 
convent  out  of  Madame  Logonna  than  out  of  Madame 
Kergrist  ;  and,  maybe,  Olivier's  handsome  face  and 
smooth  tongue  have  had  their  way.  Did  she  let  him 
see  Fran^oise,  I  wonder  ?  Surely  she  would  pot  venture 
without  my  permission." 

The  door  opened,  and  in  came  Francoise  Nevez  ; 
such  a  contrast  with  her  bright  face  and  golden  hair  to 
the  pale,  black-robed  nun  who  had  just  left  the  room,  that 
even  to  the  prosaic  old  merchant,  Jean  Picard,  it  seemed 
as  if  sunshine  had  come  into  the  room  with  his  ward. 

She  ran  up  to  him,  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks 
before  he  could  rise  to  greet  her,  and  then  put  both  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  What  mischief  is  brewing,  my  dear  godfather  ? — 
two  visitors  in  one  day  is  quite  an  event  for  Holy  Cross, 
I  can  tell  you  ;  and  you  are  the  second  gentleman  who 
has  come  to  see  our  Mother  this  afternoon." 

Jean  Picard  grunted  and  looked  very  cross. 

"Ah!"  he  said  "who  was  the  other?" 

Franqoise  smiled  and  blushed. 

"  It  was  Monsieur  Olivier  Logonna." 

"  And  what  do  you  know  about  Logonna  ?"  Picard 
spoke  roughly.  "  You  have  never  seen  him  at  my 
house.  What  is  he  like,  child  ?" 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  41 

"  Oh,  I  have  seen  him  several  times  at  market  and 
in  church,  and  to-day,  when  I  was  in  the  garden  water- 
ing my  flowers,  our  Mother  passed  by  and  presented 
Monsieur  Logonna  to  me." 

Picard  grew  red  and  angry. 

"Well,  and  what  do  you  think  of  him  ?" 

The  girl  thought  her  guardian  was  jealous  and 
tyrannical,  and  she  felt  inclined  to  tease. 

"  I  thought  a  great  many  things,"  and  she  looked 
down  demurely  on  the  floor. 

"Confound  all  women!"  but  Picard  said  this  to 
himself — he  looked  awkwardly  at  his  ward,  and  plunged 
his  broad  hand  in  among  his  hair. 

"  Do  you  want  him  for  a  husband  ?"  he  spoke  so 
crossly  that  Franqoise  started. 

"  I  never  said  so."  Tears  sprang  in  her  eyes. 
"  Why  are  you  angry  with  me,  godfather  ?  may  I  not 
speak  to  anyone  besides  you?" 

She  had  seated  herself  beside  him  on  a  low  wooden 
stool,  and  as  she  spoke  she  stroked  the  back  of  his  hand 
as  it  lay  in  his  lap. 

Jean  Picard  looked  wistfully  round  the  room,  as  if 
he  expected  some  of  the  figures  in  the  pictures  that 
decorated  the  walls  —  a  dark  series  representing  the 
Triumphs  of  the  cross — to  come  down  and  tell  him  how 


42  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

to  manage  his  ward.  Jehan  Kergrist  had  come  to  him 
that  morning  and  had  proposed  for  Frangoise  Nevez,  and 
it  had  seemed  such  easy  work  to  say  "Yes,"  if  Frangoise 
were  willing  ;  and  now,  instead  of  being  able  to  plead 
for  his  young  friend,  he  found  that  Olivier  Logonna  had 
been  before  him,  both  with  the  Abbess  and  with 
Frangoise. 

"Jehan  has  been  a  fool,"  he  muttered;  "  why  did 
he  delay  ?  such  a  girl  as  Frangoise  cannot  be  hidden 
away — did  he  think  no  one  had  eyes  but  himself?" 

"  Come,  come,  godfather," — the  girl  spoke  half 
coaxingly,  half  pettishly, — •"  why  may  I  not  speak  to 
Monsieur  Logonna?" 

Jean  looked  down  at  her  for  a  minute,  and  then  he 
laid  his  hand  on  her  golden  head. 

"  You  have  not  answered  my  question,  little  one. 
When  you  have  done  that,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think 
of  Olivier  Logonna." 

"  It  is  not  a  reasonable  question,  godfather,"  she 
pouted — then  she  looked  winningly  in  his  face.  "  How 
can  I  want  a  husband  when  I  have  you  for  a  father  ? " 

Pic~rd  brightened  with  pleasure  ;  he  bent  down  and 
kissed  her  fair  forehead. 

"  Yes,  my  child,  you  must  have  a  husband  to  take 
care  of  you,  and  if  you  wish  for  this  Logonna  you  shall 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  43 

have  him.  He  says  he  loves  you,  he  has  told  the 
Abbess  he  does,  and  God  forbid  that  I,  of  all  men,  should 
cross  true  love,  even  if  it  crosses  my  own  wish.  I  had 
other  hopes,  but  never  mind  them  now." 

Frangoise  flushed  deeply  and  looked  down.  Picard 
sighed  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  was  her  answer. 
She  had  chosen  Olivier  Logonna — what  need  to  trouble 
her  tender  heart  with  the  tale  of  Jehan  Kergrist's 
love  ? 

He  stroked  her  soft  hair  gently. 

"  Then  it  is  settled,  my  little  girl ;"  he  spoke  gently. 
"  I  will  tell  Logonna  that  you  will  listen  to  him,  and  you 
must  come  home  for  the  wooing." 

He  felt  the  head  twitch  away  from  his  fingers,  and 
Frangoise  rose  up  quickly. 

"  Oh  godfather,  what  do  you  mean — why  do  we  go 
on  teasing  one  another  ?  Monsieur  Logonna  looked 
pleasant,  and  he  spoke  to  me,  but  I  could  never  marry 
him — never,"  she  cried  with  emphasis. 

Jean  Picard  looked  helplessly  at  the  pictures  again. 
What  did  Frangoise  mean  ?  was  there  any  hope  for 
Jehan,  or  should  he,  by  speaking  of  his  young  friend's 
love,  ruin  his  hopes  ? 

"  If  Marie  had  given  me  any  daughters,"  he  thought, 
his  face  getting  more  and  more  perplexed,  "  I  should 


44  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

then  have  learned  how  to  deal  with  Franchise.  How 
am  I  to  find  out  what  this  wayward  child  means  ? " 

Francoise  had  stood  silently  watching  his  face  ;  she 
was  timid  as  well  as  impulsive,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
that  her  frankness  had  vexed  her  good  godfather. 

She  looked  down  at  her  pretty  feet,  and  twisted 
her  fingers  together. 

"  Papa  Picard  ! "  He  looked  up  and  the  perplexity 
cleared  away.  Ever  since  FranQoise  had  been  a  todd- 
ling rosy  child  of  three  years  old  she  had  called  him 
Papa  Picard  ;  and  now  it  seemed  to  honest,  troubled 
Jean,  that  the  reserve  which  her  four  years  of  convent 
life  had  brought  into  their  intercourse  had  suddenly 
melted  ;  she  was  again  his  merry  mischievous  Fran^oise, 
the  child  he  was  bound  to  advise  and  protect,  and  who 
was  to  inherit  his  large  fortune. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  little  one  ;"  he  rose  up,  put  a  hand 
on  each  of  her  shoulders,  and  kissed  her  forehead. 
"  What  does  my  Franqoise  want  of  her  old  father  ?" 

She  blushed  and  hung  her  head.  "  Do  you  then 
wish  me  to  marry  Monsieur  Logonna,  godfather  ?" 

Then  she  looked  up  and  saw  perplexity  come  back 
to  his  eyes  and  his  lips,  and  she  suddenly  burst  out 
laughing.  "  Papa  Picard,  you  want  me  to  marry  some 
one  else,"  she  said.  "  Who  is  it  ?" 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  45 

Jean  Picard  took  his  hand  from  her  shoulder,  pulled 
out  his  handkerchief,  and  wiped  his  hot  face. 

"  The  Holy  Virgin  be  praised,"  he  said  ;  "  my  child 
shall  not  marry  anyone  she  cannot  love  with  her  whole 
heart !"  He  stopped,  then  he  hurried  on  :  "  If  she  can 
love  Jehan  Kergrist,  Papa  Picard  would  like  her  to  marry 
him." 

Franchise  turned  away  quickly,  and  Picard  thought 
she  was  vexed  again  ;  she  went  up  to  the  window  and 
began  tapping  the  small  diamond  panes  with  her  fingers, 
while  she  gazed  at  some  tall  white  lilies  growing  in  one 
of  the  square  flower  pots  of  the  convent  garden. 

Picard  waited — but  at  last  he  grew  impatient. 

"  I  must  be  going,  child  ;"  she  turned  round,  and 
he  saw  that  her  cheeks  were  glowing,  and  her  eyes  had 
a  sweet  suffused  look  that  was  very  like  happiness. 
"Come,  come,  this  will  do!"  he  muttered,  "you  are 
getting  on,  Jean  ;  you  begin  to  understand  young  girls!" 
then  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "  I  am  then  to  say  '  No ' 
to  Monsieur  Logonna,  and  '  No  '  also  to  Jehan — is  it  so, 
my  child?" 

Franqoise  screwed  her  lips  together.  "  Suppose," 
she  looked  up  brightly  in  his  face,  "  you  only  do  one 
message,  Papa  Picard  ;  I  want  to  be  so  sure  that  Mon- 
sieur Kergrist  is  in  earnest — that — that — he  had  better 
ask  me  himself." 


46  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

CHAPTER  III. 

A  TEMPTATION. 

FOUR  years  have  passed  since  Jehan  Kergrist  wedded 
fair  FranQoise  Nevez  in  the  cathedral  of  St.  Corentin. 
It  was  a  gay  marriage,  and  the  young  couple  had  the 
good  will  and  hearty  prayers  of  most  Quimper  folk. 
Jehan  had  not  hitherto  had  an  enemy  in  the  town,  but 
his  marriage  had  at  first  cost  him  his  dearest  friend. 

For  six  months  Olivier  Logon na  disappeared  from 
Quimper,  and  when  he  came  back  he  was  a  changed 
man  ;  he  gave  up  all  the  pleasures  to  which  he  had  been 
so  much  addicted,  he  never  went  into  any  company,  nor 
vwas  he  often  seen  out  of  doors  ;  he  spent  all  his  time 
in  his  counting-house,  or  in  making  journeys  connected 
with  his  business.  At  first  he  shunned  his  old  com- 
panions, but  Jehan's  frank  cordiality  broke  down  Olivier's 
coldness,  and  soon  the  friends  were  to  be  seen  crossing 
the  market-place  together  as  usual,  and  frequently  in 
one  another's  shops  ;  on  one  point  Olivier  remained 
firm — he  would  not  enter  his  neighbour's  dwelling-house. 

"  I  go  nowhere,"  he  said,  and  Jehan  was  obliged  to 
accept  the  excuse. 

He  accepted  it;  the  more  readily  because  FranQoise 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  47 

had  a  strong  dislike  to  Olivier.  When  she  found  out 
that  Logonna  had  known  of  his  friend's  long-cherished 
love  for  her,  she  could  not  forgive  his  request  to  the 
Abbess  for  leave  to  wed  her. 

"  You  are  well  rid  of  such  a  friend,"  she  said  to  her 
husband  ;  "  he  cannot  be  honest." 

"  Hush,  my  child,"  Jehan  had  answered.  "  Olivier 
is  one  of  the  first  and  most  highly  honoured  merchants 
of  Quimper." 

And  so  he  was — his  business  went  on  increasing 
and  increasing,  and  people  wondered  why  he  did  not 
marry,  for,  like  Jehan,  he  was  an  only  son,  and  had  lost 
his  parents  early. 

Jehan  Kergrist's  affairs  had  also  prospered,  and  he 
had  two  rosy  little  sons  so  like  him  that  Jean  Picard 
often  scolded  FranQoise,  and  asked  her  why  she  had 
not  bestowed  some  of  her  own  good  looks  on  her  little 
ones. 

But  now,  at  the  end  of  the  four  years,  war  broke  out 
in  Brittany  ;  towns  were  taken  and  pillaged,  and  pro- 
perty was  no  longer  safe. 

Jehan  sat  in  his  counting-house,  with  an  open  letter 
in  his  hand.  It  was  from  England,  and  it  held  the 
offer  of  a  profitable  undertaking ;  indeed,  the  profits 
offered  were  so  large  that  he  scarcely  felt  justified  in 


48  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


refusing  the  business.  But  yet  he  shrank  from  leaving 
his  home  at  such  an  uncertain  time  of  strife  and  blood- 
shed. 

He  would  not  tell  Franchise — why  should  he  lay  on 
her  his  perplexity  ?  There  was  no  one  to  advise  him, 
his  old  friend  Picard  had  gone  to  Normandy  to  secure 
some  property  he  held  there.  So  Jehan  had  to  keep 
his  troubles  to  himself,  and  he  went  about  all  that  day 
with  an  anxious  face  and  a  troubled  spirit. 

He  met  Olivier  Logonna  in  the  market-place,  but 
he  said  nothing  to  him.  He  could  not  confide  to  this 
friend  that  which  was  still  untold  to  Francoise. 

In  the  evening,  just  as  he  was  preparing,  in  the 
homely  fashion  of  those  days,  to  close  his  shop  with  his 
apprentice's  help,  he  met  Logonna  on  the  door-step. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  and  see  me,  Jehan,"  Olivier 
smiled  genially.  "  I  have  shut  myself  up  too  long — I 
mean  to  admit  my  friends  again,  and  I  will  begin  with 
you,  the  best  friend  I  have." 

Jehan  hesitated  ;  he  knew  that  in  their  boyhood  he 
had  always  told  all  his  secrets  to  Olivier,  and  had  re- 
ceived none  of  his  friend's  in  return  ;  there  seemed,  too, 
a  magnetic  power  in  the  silent  Logonna  which  had 
always  drawn  his  friend  on  to  confidence,  but  he  did 
not  want  to  confide  in  him  now.  And  yet  if  he  told 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  49 

Franqoise  as  soon  as  he  came  home,  why  should  he  not 
ask  Olivier's  opinion  ?  He  hesitated  again.  Would 
Frangoise  like  him  to  go  and  spend  an  evening  with  the 
man  she  so  shrank  from  ? 

"  Thank  you,  my  friend,"  he  said  ;  "  I  fear  I  cannot 
come." 

"  Then,"  Olivier  looked  very  sad  and  downcast,  "  it 
is  as  I  feared — you  have  never  forgiven  me,  Jehan  ;  all 
your  kindness  has  been  a  sham." 

He  turned  to  go  away,  but  Jehan  caught  his  arm. 

"  Stay — I  will  come.  I  will  tell  Franchise  not  to 
wait  for  me." 

Logonna  stopped  him. 

"  Do  not  say  to  your  wife  that  you  are  coming  to 
me  ;  you  can  truly  say  you  have  business  this  evening, 
for  it  is  business  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

Jehan  looked  unwilling — but  he  went  back  to  speak 
to  his  wife. 

Only  the  maid  Gwen  and  the  eldest  boy  were  in  the 
sitting-room. 

"  My  mistress  is  upstairs  with  Conan,"  the  girl  said. 

Jehan  left  a  message  for  Francoise,  and  went  back 
to  his  friend  ;  he  was  not  sorry  to  miss  seeing  his  wife. 

Since  his  marriage  Jehan  had  added  many  comforts 

to  his  home,  and  he  was  greatly  struck  by  the  bareness 

E 


So  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

of  Olivier's  room.  The  weather  ^vas  cold,  but  there 
was  no  fire  on  the  empty  hearth  ;  and  it  seemed  to 
Kergrist  that  some  of  the  ancient  carved  furniture  he 
remembered  had  disappeared. 

Logonna  was  very  friendly,  but  as  soon  as  they  were 
seated  he  suddenly  said — 

"  Now,  Jehan,  what  ails  you  ?  have  you  made  a  bad 
bargain,  or  lost  a  cargo  of  merchandise  ?  something  is 
troubling  you." 

His  dark  eyes  glowed  as  he  fixed  them  on  Jehan's 
face  ;  the  long  and  narrow  gaze  had  the  strange  fascina- 
tion of  a  serpent. 

Jehan  struggled  ;  he  tried  to  withdraw  his  eyes  from 
Logonna's,  but  he  could  not,  and  without  his  will  his 
tongue  answered  :  "  Yes,  my  friend  ;  I  have  a  trouble." 

"  Ah,"  Olivier  sighed,  but  he  kept  silence  ;  he  trusted 
to  his  eyes  more  than  to  his  tongue. 

Kergrist  grew  restless  under  the  long  narrow  gaze  ; 
he  fidgeted  and  tried  to  look  away.  In  vain,  his  eyes 
came  back  and  settled  with  an  increasing  expression  of 
trust  on  his  friend's  face. 

ft  It  seems  selfish,"  he  began,  "  to  trouble  you  with 
my  troubles  ;  besides,  I  ought  to  be  man  enough  to 
bear  them  for  myself." 

"  That  is  not  the  teaching  we  get  in  church,"  said 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  51 

Olivier  ;  "  the  sermon  of  last  Sunday  told  us  to  '  bear 
one  another's  burdens.'"  He  looked  devout,  and  crossed 
himself,  that  his  friend  might  see  he  was  in  earnest. 

Jehan  was  puzzled  and  touched.  Olivier  had 
never  taken  this  tone  with  him  before ;  it  was  rather  the 
sort  of  reasoning  he  might  have  expected  from  Francoise. 

"  I  will  tell  you  my  perplexity,"  he  said  at  last ; 
"  your  wits  are  sharper  than  mine,  and  you  will  help  me 
to  see  what  I  should  do."  Olivier  listened  with  fixed 
attention,  but  when  Jehan  spoke  of  the  offer  that  had 
been  made  him,  a  fierce  light  shone  in  Logonna's  eyes  ; 
he  checked  this,  and  forced  his  lips  into  a  smile  of  con- 
gratulation. 

"  You  would  have  to  be  absent  for  some  time,"  he 
said. 

"Yes,"  Jehan  sighed,  "there  is  my  trouble;  who 
can  say  what  may  happen  to  Quimper  in  two  or  three 
months,  in  seven  or  eight  weeks  even,  and  I  might  be 
longer  ;  am  I  right  to  risk  so  much  for  profit  ?" 

Olivier  closed  his  eyes  till  they  looked  like  two 
black  oblique  lines.  He  sat  thinking  for  a  few  moments. 

"  You  say  there  is  no  time  to  lose,"  he  said  ;  "  you 
must  go  at  once  or  relinquish  the  affair  ;  well,  let  us 
consider." 

His  heavy  eyebrows  met,  and  his  lips  closed  tightly. 


52  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

For  a  moment  he  thought  he  would  make  Kergrist  give 
up  the  enterprise  and  snatch  at  it  himself,  so  great  was 
his  greed  for  gold  ;  but  this  could  not  be  done  secretly, 
and  he  must  not  lose  his  character  in  Quimper  for  fair 
dealing.  Suddenly  he  looked  up,  his  face  aglow  as  he 
smiled  brightly  at  his  friend.  "  I  have  it,  Jehan  ;  you 
can  do  it  safely.  Sell  your  stock  and  your  house — 
you  will  easily  find  a  purchaser — convert  all  you  have 
into  money,  and  then  you  can  go  away  happy." 

"  And  my  wife  and  children  ?"  Jehan  looked  angry. 
Did  Olivier  then  suppose  that  he  cared  more  for  his 
goods  than  he  did  for  his  family  ? 

"  Your  wife  and  children  will  be  safe  with  Jean 
Picard,  and  surely,  Jehan,  you  will  also  rely  on  my 
devotion." 

Kergrist  looked  unwilling,  but  he  grasped  his  friend's 
outstretched  hand.  "  And  the  money,  what  can  I  do 
with  it  ?  In  such  times  as  these,  whose  money  is  safe  ? 
I  cannot  leave  it  with  Jean  Picard,  he  is  getting  old." 

"  I  will  take  charge  of  it,"  said  Olivier.  "  I  promise 
you  that  I  will  watch  over  it  is  carefully  as  if  it  were 
my  own.  Come,  Jehan,  trust  my  counsel  ;  be  at  rest ; 
a  husband  and  a  father  has  no  right  to  lose  such  a 
splendid  chance  of  doubling  his  fortune." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  53 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A  TRAITOR. 

A  LITTLE  way  out  of  Quimper,  beside  the  tree-shaded 
river,  there  was  a  pleasant  many-gabled  stone  house, 
with  a  quaint  round  staircase  tower  at  two  of  its 
corners.  The  wall  that  shut  it  in  from  the  path  beside 
the  river  was  built  of  regular  blocks  of  the  same  dark 
grey  greenstone,  and  in  front,  between  this  wall  and  the 
house  itself,  was  a  pleasant  strip  of  garden  planted  with 
quaint  starry  flowers  and  aromatic  herbs.  Behind  the 
house,  and  on  each  side  where  the  space  was  larger, 
were  orchards  with  purple  plums  and  rich  brown  pears 
ripening  in  the  warm  August  sunshine. 

Looking  under  the  trees,  you  might  have  seen 
beyond  them  a  plot-  of  open  ground,  green  and  gold 
just  now,  with  its  crop  of  gourds  and  cabbages,  over 
which  a  few  butterflies  still  hovered,  but  over  the  herb- 
bed  in  front  hung  quite  a  colony  of  busy  bees,  filling  the 
air  with  their  soft  humming. 

There  was  a  cheerful  glow  about  the  scene,  and 
when  presently  two  fat  square- faced  children,  in  long 
jackets  and  baggy  breeches,  came  running  out  of  the 


54  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

house,  their  merry  faces  and  shrill  outcries  of  joy 
seemed  quite  in  keeping  with  the  rest. 

"  Mother,  mother,"  they  cried  joyfully,  "  there  are 
more  bees  than  ever  to-day." 

Fran^oise  came  out  of  the  low  round-headed  door- 
way. She  smiled  at  her  children's  words,  but  the  smile 
faded  at  once  from  her  pale  face.  She  turned  away 
and  walked  on  till  she  reached  the  right-hand  corner  of 
the  house,  and  then  she  went  slowly  into  the  orchard, 
her  black  dress  and  white  cap  in  harmony  with  the 
green  below  and  around  her. 

"  Ah,  my  husband,"  she  was  saying  to  herself,  "what 
can  keep  you  from  me  ? — a  year  to-morrow  since  you 
went  away — what  can  it  be  ?" 

She  had  shrunk  with  a  fear  she  could  not  give  a 
reason  for  from  her  husband's  undertaking  ;  but  Jean 
Picard  loudly  advocated  it,  and  offered  so  heartily  to 
take  the  young  wife  and  children,  to  his  home  beside 
the  Odet,  that  Fran9oise  yielded  when  she  saw  that  her 
husband  really  wished  to  go. 

For  the  first  two  months  she  had  from  time  to  time 
received  letters  from  Jehan  ;  then  the  war  had  extended 
from  the  frontier  to  the  north  coast  of  Brittany,  and  all 
tidings  ceased.  At  last  came  a  letter  by  a  travelling 
pedlar,  saying  that  Jehan  had  set  out  on  his  home 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  55 

journey  ;  but  this  had  come  several  months  ago,  and 
no  news  could  be  gained  of  him. 

Old  age  was  telling  on  Jean  Picard  ;  he  had  long 
ago  given  up  business,  but  of  late,  since  a  slight  illness, 
his  health  and  mind  had  grown  very  feeble,  and  Francoise 
felt  she  could  no  longer  rely  on  his  judgment. 

He  had  grown  into  a  habit  of  consulting  Olivier 
Logonna,  and  since  he  had  become  too  feeble  to  go  to 
Quimper,  the  rich  young  merchant  came  twice  or  thrice 
a  week  to  the  pleasant  grey  house  beside  the  river,  and 
sat  for  hours  with  Picard. 

At  first  Fran^oise  avoided  meeting  him,  but  one 
day,  some  time  after  Jehan's  departure,  Logonna  sur- 
prised her  sitting  with  the  old  man. 

Olivier  was  so  humble,  so  deeply  reverent  in  his 
manner,  he  spoke  so  lovingly  of  her  husband  and  of  his 
return,  that  when  he  went  away  Franqoise  rebuked 
herself  for  want  of  charity,  and  resolved  to  tolerate 
Monsieur  Logonna's  visits.  Jean  Picard  counted  the 
hours  till  he  came  again,  and  referred  the  most  trifling 
matters  to  Olivier. 

The  months  lagged  heavily  by  without  any  tidings, 
and  Logonna  came  still  ofterier;  Franchise  was  surprised 
one  day  at  her  own  disappointment  because  he  failed  to 
come.  She  had  few  visitors,  and  it  was  a  relief,  after 


56  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

the  childish  babbling  of  the  old  man,  to  turn  to  some 
one  with  her  anxious  hopes  and  fears  ;  besides  this,  she 
grew  conscious  of  a  strange  power  in  those  half- closed 
dark  eyes  that  drew  her  irresistibly  to  confidence  ;  and  as 
Logonna  walked  beside  her  under  the  trees,  watching 
the  changes  of  her  sweet  loving  face,  he  saw  his  power ; 
his  purpose  strengthened — Franchise  should  be  his, 
spite  of  all  her  present  love  for  Jehan  Kergrist. 

To-day  beside  the  Odet  he  was  busy  with  thoughts 
of  Fran^oise. 

"  My  spies  along  the  coast,"  he  said,  "  are  positive 
that  Jehan  has  not  landed  ;  he  is  either  in  a  French 
prison,  or  he  has  fallen  in  trying  to  pass  the  frontier  ; 
he  may  have  suffered  shipwreck,  or  he  may  have  married 
an  English  wife." 

He  did  not  believe  this  last  idea,  but  he  tried  to 
force  it  on  himself,  so  that  he  might  impress  it  more 
powerfully  on  Franqoise.  He  loved  her  too  ardently  to 
be  sure  of  his  own  influence. 

"  But  even  supposing  the  worst,"  he  thought ;  "  if 
Jehan  comes  back,  he  may  hav?  been  plundered  of  his 

gains,  and  then  " he  paused,  a  dark  stern  look,  as  if 

the  shadow  of  some  evil  being  were  reflected  in  his  face, 
changed  him  into  a  distorted  likeness  of  himself ;  "and 
then,"  he  went  on  with  firm  lips,  "Jehan  Kergrist  is  a 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  57 

beggar,  and  Francoise  will  shrink  from  beggary ;  her 
own  money  belongs  to  the  children,  she  cannot  touch  it, 
and  she  has  always  been  used  to  riches  ;  her  ways  and 
habits  are  delicate  and  soft,  she  could  not  endure 
privation  or  discomfort.  No — Jehan  the  beggar  will 
not  be  welcome,  and  —  but  I  am  a  fool  to  waste 
thought  on  that  which  is  impossible.  Jehan  must 
not  return." 

He  urged  on  his  horse,  and  soon  reached  the  gabled 
house  of  Jean  Picard. 

"I  will  be  careful,"  he  said  to  himself;  "no  word 
or  look  shall  betray  me  till  my  time  comes  ;"  and  after 
taking  his  horse  to  the  stable,  he  stole  softly  into  the 
orchard. 

When  he  came  in  sight  of  Franchise  he  stood  still 
gazing.  He  was  keenly  alive  to  things  of  beauty,  and 
the  tall  graceful  figure,  with  its  clasped  hands  and 
saddened  face,  made  a  picture  of  melancholy  in  vivid 
contrast  to  the  glow  all  around,  to  the  rich  fruit  smiling 
among  the  leaves  overhead,  and  the  golden  light  dancing 
in  and  out  flecking  the  golden  starred  grass  under  foot, 
to  the  gay  cries  of  the  unseen  children,  and  the  soothing 
hum  of  the  bees  ;  he  felt  compelled  to  stand  and  gaze. 
FranQoise  was  pondering  his  influence.  "  What  is  it 
that  compels  me  to  listen  to  him  ?"  she  said  ;  "  I  believe 


58  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

in  him  while  he  is  near,  and  yet  the  instant  he  leaves 
me  I  shrink  from  him  and  his  words." 

All  at  once  she  looked  round  and  saw  him  so 
standing,  with  an  eager  look  of  excitement  on  his  face. 

She  gave  a  little  cry  and  ran  towards  him. 

"  You  bring  me  news,"  she  cried  ;  "  oh,  tell  it 
quickly !" 

Her  heaving  bosom,  her  lovely  eyes  swimming  with 
uncontrolled  emotion,  showed  Olivier  the  hold  Jehan 
yet  possessed  on  her  love. 

He  shook  his  head,  with  sorrow  in  his  face  and 
burning  anger  in  his  heart. 

"  I  have  no  news  that  he  is  coming,  my  sweet  friend. 
I  have  surmises,  founded  on  my  inquiries,  it  is  true  ; 
but  you  will  not  listen  to  surmises." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm.  "  How  do  you  mean  ? 
I  will  listen  to  anything  that  gives  news  of  my  husband." 

Logonna  turned  away  with  a  sad  smile. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  \\  ent  on  ;  "I  will  know  what  you 
are  hiding  from  me."  Then  she  took  her  hand  away 
and  spoke  more  gently :  "  You  must  pardon  me, 
Monsieur  Logonna,  but  suspense  makes  me  vehement 
and  uncourteous." 

She  looked  at  him  sweetly,  he  could  scarcely 
restrain  his  love  from  showing  itself. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  59 

"  My  friend," — he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  ground, — 
"you  must  pardon  me  if  I  give  you  pain.  I  have 
reason  to  think  that  Kergrist  will  not  return  ;  he  is  by 
this  time  doubtless  the  husband  of  another  wife." 

FranQoise  grew  colourless,  then  she  flushed  to  the 
edge  of  the  matronly  cap  which  hid  her  fair  shining 
hair. 

"  It  is  a  false  tale,"  she  said  sternly,  "  and  you  are 
a  false  friend  to  repeat  it." 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  hurried  after  her  as  she- turned  away, 
and  he  spoke  eagerly  ;  "  you  are  very  hard  on  Jehan. 
What  can  he  do  ?  if  he  marries  and  stays  in  England, 
he  will  be  rich  ;  but  he  has  lost  all  ;  if  he  comes  back 
here,  he  is  a  beggar,  and  he  beggars  you  also." 

She  stopped  and  looked  at  him  with  a  scared  face. 

"  A  beggar  ! — that  cannot  be — he  told  me  he  left 
his  money  in  safe  charge  in  Quimper."  She  fixed  her 
eyes  earnestly  on  Olivier. 

"  That  was  his  first  intention.  I  had  settled  to 
take  charge  of  the  coin,  and  then  at  the  last  he  changed 
his  mind  and  took  it  with  him." 

Franqoise  stood  very  still  and  was  silent.  "  He 
could  not  be  false  to  me,"  she  said  at  last ;  "  he  was 
always  true  and  honest." 

"  How   patient,    how  trusting   you    are,"    Logonna 


60  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

sighed.  "  My  heart  aches  to  think  how  such  constancy 
is  rewarded  ;  but  indeed,  dear  lady,  you  waste  it — you 
are  certainly  a  free  woman — either  Kergrist  is  dead,  or 
he  is  false,  he  is  dead  to  you  either  way  ;  and  yet, 
because  I  only  try  to  show  you  the  truth,  you  say  I  am 
a  false  friend.  I  swore  to  Kergrist  that  I  would  watch 
over  and  protect  you,  and  it  is  surely  part  of  this  duty 
to  tell  you  the  result  of  the  inquiries  I  have  caused  to 
be  made.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Kergrist  is  at  this 
moment  happy  with  his  new  rich  wife." 

She  turned  on  him  passionately. 

"  You  have  some  purpose  in  saying  this — why  do 
you  do  it  ?  Tell  me  that,  too,  and  then  I  shall  see 
whether  I  ought  to  hate  you  or  believe  you." 

Her  eyes  glowed :  she  panted  with  excitement, 
and  again  she  put  her  hand  on  his  arm,  as  if  to  force 
the  truth  from  him. 

The  pressure  of  her  slender  fingers  maddened  him. 

"  I  have  no  motive,"  he  said,  with  passion  that 
equalled  her  own  ;  "  but  I  love  you  more  than  my  life. 
Can  you  not  feel,  Fran^oise," — he  gathered  her  hands 
hungrily  into  his — "  that  you  are  more  to  me  than  life 
itself?" 

She  stood  still,  so  shocked  with  surprise  that  she 
did  not  at  once  draw  her  hands  from  his  burning  clasp. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  61 

"  What  is  any  love  you  have  known  to  mine  ?  "  he 
said  ardently.  "  Can  love  that  is  fed  by  such  love  as 
yours  compare  with  the  fire  of  a  heart  that  has  been 
consuming  itself  all  these  years,  its  only  nourishment 
regret  ?  Oh,  Fran^oise  !  give  me  at  least  a  hope  ;  do 
not  drive  me  to  despair." 

She  had  drawn  away  her  hands,  and  stood  looking 
proudly  at  him. 

"  Monsieur  Logonna,  what  you  have  just  said  I  will 
try  to  forget  ;  but  you  must  not  see  me  again." 

Then  she  went  swiftly  round  the  angle  of  the 
house,  and  left  him  alone  among  the  fruit-trees. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  HE  WILL  RETURN,"  SHE  SAID. 

JEAN  PICARD  was  dead — the  funeral  was  over,  and 
to  the  surprise  of  everyone,  the  notary  of  Quimper 
declared  that  the  old  merchant  had  left  every  liard  he 
possessed,  not  to  his  beloved  godchild  FranQoise  Ker- 
grist,  but  to  his  esteemed  and  trusted  friend  Olivier 
Logonna  ;  who  was  also  appointed  guardian  to  the  two 
Kergrist  children,  in  place  of  the  dead  man. 

This  arrangement  had  necessitated  more  than  one 


62  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

meeting  between  the  sorrowful  Franqoise  and  Logonna  ; 
but  though  he  looked  deeply  penitent,  she  treated  him 
with  a  lofty  contempt,  and  only  spoke  to  him  when 
absolutely  required  to  do  so. 

She  was  almost  heartbroken  to-day.  The  house 
and  all  that  it  contained  was  the  property  of  Logonna. 
He  had  sent  her  a  message  through  the  village  priest 
of  Locmaria,  the  priest  who  had  married  her  and 
Jehan,  to  ask  her  to  consider  herself  as  much  mistress 
of  the  house  as  she  had  been  in  her  godfather's  lifetime, 
but  she  had  refused.  She  saw  that  Father  Felix 
thought  highly  of  Olivier,  and  she  did  not  like  to  accuse 
him,  but  she  would  not  accept  his  offer. 

"  You  will  find  it  hard  to  live,  my  daughter ;" 
Father  Felix  shook  his  head  with  deprecation.  "  Both 
rent  and  provisions  are  dearer  since  the  war  began,  and 
you  will  find  it  hard  to  live  in  Quimper  on  what 
remains  to  you." 

"  It  will  not  be  for  long,  Father  ;  Jehan  must  soon 
come  back  now." 

Father  Felix  shook  his  head  ;  Olivier  had  per- 
suaded him  that  Jehan  was  dead,  and  more  than  once 
the  priest  had  advised  Franqoise  to  consider  herself 
a  widow  ;  but  she  remained  obstinate. 

"  Farewell,  my  child,"  he  said  ;  "  I  hope  you  will 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  63 

change  your  mind  and   stay  here.      I  shall  come  again 
to-morrow." 

He  went  out  of  the  long  low  room,  along  a  short 
clay-floored  passage,  but  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  stopped 
halfway.  She  heard  a  cry,  and  then  back  came  the 
sound  of  shuffling  feet,  and  the  priest's  white  scared  face 
looked  in  on  her  again. 

"  Franqoise,"  he  spoke  hoarsely,  "  my  good  child,  pre- 
pare yourself:  you  are  right — or  it  is  his  spirit." 

"  It  is  Jehan  !"  but  she  could  not  move  :  she  stood 
with  clasped  hands  and  straining  eyes  awaiting  her 
husband. 

He  came  in.  He  was  so  grey,  so  wan  and  weary- 
looking — such  a  beggar  in  appearance,  that  he  was 
scarcely  to  be  recognised  ;  but  Franchise  took  no  note 
of  this.  She  sprang  forward  and  clasped  him  in  her 
arms  ;  then  she  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder  and  sobbed 
out  her  joy  and  sorrow. 

Father  Felix  stole  quietly  away  to  fetch  the  children 
He  was  glad  that  Fran^oise's  sorrow  was  over,  but  still 
if  she  had  been  really  a  widow  she  might  have  married 
the  rich  man  Olivier  Logonna,  and  Olivier  had  pro- 
mised a  new  shrine  to  the  church  of  Locmaria.  Father 
Felix  was  vexed  with  himself  that  he  was  not  more 
entirely  satisfied. 


64  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

When  he  came  back  with  the  two  children  he  was 
greatly  surprised  at  the  change  in  Jehan's  manner.  His 
face  was  red  and  angry,  his  eyes  sparkled,  and  he  was 
standing  in  front  of  Francoise,  questioning  her. 

The  little  boys  hung  back  shyly  ;  they  did  not  re- 
cognise their  father  in  this  soiled,  ragged  man. 

Jehan  threw  himself  on  a  chair,  and  pointed  at  them 
angrily. 

"  They,  too,  take  me  for  a  beggar,"  he  said.  "  Well, 
Father  Felix,  are  you  also  in  this  precious  conspiracy, 
to  defraud  me  of  what  is  really  mine  ?" 

Francoise  did  not  speak.  She  raised  first  one  child 
and  then  another,  and  when  she  had  placed  them  in  their 
father's  arms,  she  hurried  to  seek  food  for  the  wanderer. 
Meantime  the  children's  kisses  softened  Jehan. 

He  turned  more  courteously  to  Father  Felix  who 
had  begun  to  question  him,  and  told  him  how  he  had 
been  seized  by  a  Danish  pirate  and  made  to  work  on 
board  his  captor's  ship  till  he  at  last  contrived  to  escape  ; 
how  he  had  been  plundered  of  all  he  had,  and  thus  had 
been  forced  to  make  a  long  journey  on  foot,  and  to  beg 
his  way  from  Bordeaux,  near  which  place  he  had  landed  ; 
and  now  how  his  wife  had  greeted  him  with  the  news 
of  Jean  Picard's  will,  and  also  that  Logonna  had  told 
her  that  her  husband  was  a  beggar. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  65 

"And  are  you  not  one,  then,  my  son?"  Father 
Felix  brightened  with  a  sudden  hope.  He  had  been  in 
terrible  anxiety  for  the  future  he  saw  for  Franchise  with 
this  ruined  husband. 

"  No,  I  swear  by  St.  Corentin.  No — I  gave  all  my 
money,  a  very  large  sum,  to  Logonna,  and  he  swore  to 
watch  over  it  as  though  it  were  his  own,  and  to  keep 
the  matter  a  secret." 

The  priest  gave  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

"  And  he  has  been  secret,  my  son  ;  even  to  me  he 
has  not  said  one  word  of  the  deposit  entrusted  to  him." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  father,  he  has  denied  its  existence. 
He  has  told  my  wife  that  I  changed  my  plans  and  gave 
him  nothing." 

Father  Felix  smiled. 

"  Do  you  think,  my  son,  he  would  tell  a  woman 
that  which  he  concealed  from  me  ?  It  was  but  a  pious 
deception  to  keep  your  secret  from  all.  Olivier  is  a 
good  man,  and  he  has  watched  over  your  wife  and 
children  like  a  brother." 

Jehan  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  loved  Olivier  dearly,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  did  not 
think  he  would  have  juggled  my  wife  out  of  her  inherit- 
ance ;  he  " 

The  priest  raised  his  hand. 


66  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  Forbear,  my  son.  That  was  not  his  fault  ;  the 
old  man  was  childish  and  feeble  ;  he  grew  so  to  depend 
on  Logonna  that  he  could  not  bear  him  out  of  his  sight : 
he  was  besotted  over  him." 

Jehan  had  grown  calm  and  like  himself,  and  when 
Franqoise  came  into  the  room  he  folded  her  tenderly  in 
his  arms. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  "  your  godfather's  will  must  be 
seen  to.  I  will  eat  a  crust  of  bread  and  drink  a  glass 
of  wine — no  more,"  he  waved  away  the  salver  of  good 
things  which  Gwen  carried  behind  her  mistress  ;  "  and 
then,  father,  by  your  leave  we  will  all  go  to  Quimper 
and  find  out  the  truth  for  ourselves." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    ORDEAL. 

THE  trio  took  some  time  to  reach  Quimper.  Fran9oise 
rode  behind  her  husband  on  the  old  grey  horse  that 
had  often  carried  her  and  her  godfather,  and  Father 
Felix  walked  beside  them.  Before  they  reached  the 
city  gates  the  news  had  spread  of  Jehan's  return. 

The  Bishop  of  Quimper  sat  alone   in   the   Palace 
Library.     At  that  time  he  and  the  Chapter  of  the  Cathe- 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  67 

dral  regulated  the  affairs  of  the  city  of  Quimper,  and, 
like  a  good  captain,  since  war  had  broken  out  he  had 
remained  at  the  helm  of  public  affairs. 

A  knock  ;  the  curtain  which  masked  the  door  was 
drawn  aside,  and  a  servant  asked  an  audience  for  Mon- 
sieur Olivier  Logonna. 

The  bishop  bowed,  and  then  summoned  a  welcoming 
smile.  He  had  no  reason  to  dislike  Logonna  ;  Olivier 
was  not  liberal,  but  the  priest  of  Locmaria  asserted  that 
he  paid  his  dues,  and  led  a  good  life — and  yet  the  bishop 
had  always  shrunk  from  the  dark-browed  subtly  smiling 
man. 

"  Good  day,  my  son,"  he  said,  as  Olivier  bent  low 
to  kiss  his  hand  ;  "  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

Olivier  looked  very  sad. 

"  My  lord,  I  am  cast  down  with  trouble.  My  fellow- 
townsman  and  friend  Jehan  Kergrist,  whom  we  all 
thought  dead,  has  returned — though,  indeed,  from  what 
I  hear,  it  is  like  enough  that  it  is  not  he,  but  some  im- 
postor who  has  learned  his  story,  and  is  passing  himself 
off  on  the  poor  wife  as  her  husband  ;  if  it  be  the  true 
Jehan,  then,  alas,  he  is  distraught  and  possessed." 

The  words  jarred  on  the  bishop  ;  he  looked  up 
sharply  at  Olivier. 

"On  what  do  you  found  this  charge?" 


68  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

But  there  was  another  rapping  at  the  door,  and  be- 
fore the-  bishop  had  given  leave  the  servant  came  in 
hurriedly. 

"  Pardon,  my  lord — but  there  is  good  news  ;  Jehan 
Kergrist  is  not  dead  after  all  ;  he  is  waiting  without." 

The  man  had  known  Jehan  all  his  life,  and  his  eyes 
were  bright  with  pleasure. 

"  He  may  come  in  ;"  the  bishop  turned  his  head 
away  from  Olivier,  who  tried  to  interpose. 

Jehan  came  in,  followed  by  the  priest  and  Frangoise  ; 
they  all  knelt  and  kissed  the  prelate's  hand,  but  the 
bishop  was  shocked  by  the  change  he  saw  in  Jehan. 

Logonna  came  forward  and  greeted  him. 

"  Welcome  home,  friend,"  he  said  ;  "  why,  we  had  all 
given  you  up  ;"  he  looked  into  Jehan's  eyes,  and  Ker- 
grist's  doubts  melted  into  renewed  trust  in  his  friend. 

"  I  came  to  Quimper  to  find  you,  Olivier  ;  to  ask 
you  to  restore  the  precious  deposit  I  confided  to  you. 
I  have  lost  all  besides,"  he  said  frankly  ;  "  that  is  to  say, 
while  this  war  lasts  and  trade  is  at  an  end  with  foreign 
countries." 

Logonna  looked  at  the  bishop,  and  touched  his  fore- 
head. 

"  My  good  Jehan,  you  mistake,"  he  said  gently. 
"  Do  you  not  remember  what  passed  between  us  ?  you 


FROM  NORM  A  ND  Y  A  ND  BRITTA  N  Y.  69 

gave  me  this  precious  charge,  but  at  the  last  you  changed 
yo'ur  mind  and  I  restored  it  to  you — surely  you  remem- 
ber that?" 

Jehan  looked  at  him  keenly,  but  Olivier  met  his 
eyes  with  a  look  of  gentle  pity  in  his  dark  narrow  gaze. 

"  You  are  distraught,  Olivier  Logonna,  or  you  are 
the  blackest  of  liars.  Recollect  yourself;  it  was  you 
who  first  urged  this  journey  on  me,  and  then  you  bade 
me  secretly  sell  all  that  I  had,  and  give  you  the  money 
to  take  care  of ;  and  I  gave  it." 

The  bishop  looked  earnestly  from  one  face  to  the 
other. 

"  You  are  both  men  of  good  repute,"  he  said,  "  and 
yet  one  of  you  must  be  a  great  sinner.  Jehan,  are  you 
sure  of  what  you  say  ?" 

Spite  of  his  secret  shrinking  from  Logonna,  the 
man's  calm  gentleness  seemed  to  attest  his  innocence  ; 
the  angry  face  and  impetuous  gestures  of  miserable- 
looking,  beggarly  Jehan  went  against  him  in  the  bishop's 
mind. 

"  Oh,  my  lord,  do  not  you  doubt  me,"  he  said  im- 
ploringly ;  "  I  have  no  proof  but  my  word,  but  I  have 
never  broken  that." 

"Did  you  take  no  receipt,  then,  for  this  money?" 
The  bishop's  manner  had  become  colder  towards  Jehan. 


70  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  No  ;  I  would  have  as  soon  thought  of  asking  a 
receipt  from  you,  my  lord." 

The  bishop  sat  musing;  at  last  he  looked  sadly  at 
Jehan. 

"  I  must  summon  the  Chapter,  and  you  shall  know 
the  result  of  their  conference  ;  but  I  must  warn  you, 
Jehan,  that  I  fear  it  cannot  be  favourable  to  you.  Till 
you  went  away,  your  good  repute  was  equal  to  Monsieur 
Logonna's  ;  but  you  have  been  away  for  more  than 
a  year,  and  we  do  not  know  of  your  doings  in  the  in- 
terval ;  this  will,  I  fear,  go  against  you." 

Frangoise  had  stood  clasping  her  hands  on  her 
bosom,  but  now  she  stepped  forward  and  fell  on  her 
knees. 

"  My  lord,  we  do  not  know  what  Jehan  has  been 
doing  all  this  while,  but  a  straight  tree  does  not  at  once 
grow  crooked  ;  until  he  went,  his  life  had  been  spotless. 
Ah,  my  lord,  no  one  knew  how  good  he  was  but  I." 
She  paused  to  get  courage. 

"  Peace,  my  poor  child,"  said  the  bishop ;  "  if 
Logonna  had  a  wife,  she  would  say  as  much  for  him  as 
you  do  for  Jehan.  Now  I  must  send  you  all  away  that 
I  may  consider  this  matter." 

Franqoise  started  up.  "  She  could  not  say  so,  for 
he  is  not  a  good  man,"  she  cried  with  passion  in  her 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  71 

voice.  "  Ah,  my  lord,  through  this  year  you  and  others 
have  seen  but  the  outside  of  that  false  man  ;  he  affirmed 
to  me  that  my  husband  was  beggared  and  had  left  me 
for  a  new  wife,  and  he  besought  me  to  love  him — him, 
Olivier  Logonna  ;  traitor,  you  know  this  is  truth !" 

She  almost  screamed  out  the  last  words,  and  pointed 
at  Olivier,  who  had  flushed  deeply  while  she  spoke. 

The  bishop  looked  very  stern.  "  I  cannot  enter  in- 
to a  fresh  matter  till  the  first  is  settled  ;  but  if  this  is 
true,  Logonna,  it  will  deeply  injure  your  cause." 

Olivier  had  recovered  himself.  "  I  forgive  her,  my 
lord,"  he  said  quietly  ;  "  no  one  can  blame  a  wife's  ex- 
pedient to  save  her  husband's  credit." 

The  bishop  seemed  as  if  he  did  not  hear ;  he  went 
out  with  a  troubled  look,  but  he  bade  Father  Felix 
keep  Jehan  and  his  wife  safely  in  a  room  by  themselves 
till  they  were  summoned  to  the  Chapter-house.  Log- 
onna, he  said,  could  return  to  his  own  house  and  hold 
himself  in  readiness. 

The  trial  is  over.  Logonna  and  Jehan  stand  in 
the  midst  of  the  Chapter-house  with  the  circle  of  grave 
faces  bent  on  them.  Most  of  the  reverend  judges  side 
with  Logonna,  a  few  with  Jehan,  but  these  last  are 


72  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

silenced,  when  all  at  once  Logonna  stands  up  and  prays 
to  be  heard. 

"  Holy  Fathers,"  he  says  reverently,  "  I  am  ready 
to  swear  by  the  Blessed  Crucifix  on  the  high  altar 
that  I  restored  to  Jehan  the  money  he  accuses  me  of ; 
will  the  proof  content  you  ?" 

There  is  universal  assent,  and  the  bishop  decrees 
that  the  oath  shall  at  once  be  taken. 

The  procession  forms,  and  slowly  enters  the  cathe- 
dral from  the  long  vaulted  passage  that  connects  the 
-Chapter-house  with  it.  The  church  is  full  of  the  excited 
townsmen  and  women  of  Quimper.  Fran9oise  walks 
as  close  as  she  can  to  her  husband. 

And  now  they  stand  before  the  high  altar  ;  Logonna 
and  Kergrist  are  side  by  side,  and  after  some  moments 
of  solemn  prayer,  the  bishop  mounts  the  steps  and 
stretches  out  his  hands  towards  the  crucifix  ;  presently 
he  beckons  Logonna  forward. 

Olivier  turns  to  his  neighbour  :  "  Hold  this  for  me," 
he  whispers,  and  he  hands  Jehan  the  stick  he  has  been 
walking  with  ;  then  he  too  mounts  the  steps  of  the 
altar. 

"  Swear,"  the  bishop  says,  and  there  is  a  breathless 
hush.  The  population  of  Quimper  have  thronged  into 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  73 

the  cathedral,  but  there  is  no  sound  ;  in  the  deep  still- 
ness Fran^oise  hears  the  throbbing  of  her  heart. 

"  I  swear,"  Olivier  says — how  feeble  his  voice  sounds! 
— "  that  I  restored  to  my  friend  and  neighbour  Jehan 
Kergrist  the  money  which  he  says  I  received  from  him. 
I  swear  it  on  this  holy  symbol." 

He  stretches  out  his  hand  and  touches  the  crucifix. 
Ah,  what  is  that !  the  feet  of  the  holy  image  loosen 
from  the  cross — a  drop  of  blood  falls — another,  and 
then  another. 

Jehan's  horror  overmasters  him,  he  lets  fall  the  stick 
and  reels  against  Father  Felix  who  stands  near  him 
with  Francoise.  There  is  a  chink  of  metal,  and  lo  ! 
the  staff  has  broken,  and  from  it  has  poured  the  stolen 
treasure,  the  precious  deposit  of  Jehan  Kergrist. 

There  is  a  pause,  a  deep  hush,  and  then  a  groan 
rises  from  the  assembled  people  ;  the  bishop  waves  his 
hand  to  motion  Logonna  from  the  altar  which  he  has 
profaned. 

But  he  stands  immovable,  and  they  seize  him  and 
drag  him  away  ;  he  bursts  into  a  shriek — he  does  not 
resist,  but  laughs  and  mocks  at  them  with  the  gestures 
of  an  idiot.  The  awful  judgment  has  taken  away  his 
reason. 


74 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


In  one  of  the  side  chapels  of  the  fair  cathedral  of 
St.  Corentin  there  is  over  the  altar  the  representation 
of  this  legend  and  of  the  crime  of  Logonna  of  Ouimper. 


MARKET-WOMEN,    QVIMPER. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  75 


CHAPTER   IV. 

QUIMPERLE  —  LE  FAOUET— THE  STORY  OF  "THE  MILLER 
AND  HIS  LORD." 

OUR  next  halting-place  was  at  Quimperle,  perhaps  the 
most  exquisitely  placed  town  in  Brittany,  at  the  junc- 
tion of  two  rivers,  the  Elle  and  the  Isole,  hence  its 
name  Kemper-Elle,  contracted  into  Quimperle,  for 
kemper  signifies  confluent.  Below  the  charming  little 
town  the  united  rivers  are  called  Laita,  and  on  this  is 
the  ferry  the  scene  of  Barba  Keroes's  story.  But  the 
lovely  river  Elle  winds  its  way  through  hills  and  wild 
rocky  glens  till  it  reaches  Le  Faoue't,  tempting  the 
fisherman  throughout  its  course  with  shady  trout-pools, 
in  which  the  fish  seem  inexhaustible,  for  even  salmon  are 
caught  in  the  Elle.  Beyond  Le  Faoue't  it  winds  round 
the  base  of  the  lofty  rock,  on  the  side  of  which  perches 
the  marvellous  church  of  Ste.  Barbe,  and  it  was  on  our 
return  from  seeing  this  wonder — for  it  seemed  to  us  one 
of  the  most  curious  attestations  of  a  legend  we  ever 
had  met  with  —  that  we  heard  the  story  of  "  The 
Miller  and  his  Lord." 


76 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


We  had  breakfasted  at  the  inn  of  Le  Faouet  on  our 
way  to  Ste.  Barbe,  and  had  been  so  content  with  the 
fare  that  we  settled  to  dine  there  on  our  return  instead 
of  going  on  at  once  to  Quimperle ;  but  when  we  proposed 
to  order  our  dinner,  the  hostess — a  pleasant-looking 
dark-eyed  Bretonne — demurred  :  "  There  is  table  d'h6te 
at  five  o'clock,"  she  said,  "  and  there  will  be  plenty  to  eat." 


MARKET-HOUSE,    LE    FAOUET. 


When  we  got  back,  very  tired  and  hungry,  from 
Ste.  Barbe,  our  company  consisted  of  the  host  and  two 
dirty-looking  townsmen  of  Le  Faouet,  and  the  dinner 
was  so  very  untempting  that  if  we  had  not  been  afraid 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  77 

of  the   long  drive  in  the  dark  to  Quimperle  we  should 
have  ordered  something  else. 

When  we  had  finished,  our  driver  could  not  be 
found,  though  we  had  sent  word  he  was  to  get  the 
carriage  ready.  We  strolled  out  into  the  market-place 
and  bought  some  pears  and  Breton  buttons,  and  greatly 
admired  the  gold  and  silver  ribbons  which  were  for  sale 
in  company  with  some  charming  silk  and  velvet  skull- 
caps for  babies,  embroidered  with  spangles  of  the  most 
vivid  colours. 

This  market-place  of  Le  Faouet  is  very  picturesque, 
a  sort  of  double  avenue  of  lofty  trees,  with  a  great 
market-house  at  one  end. 

Beyond  the  market-place,  near  the  desolate-looking 
church,  we  saw  an  acquaintance  we  had  made  at  Quimper, 
an  old  white-haired  beggar,  blind  of  one  eye,  and  with 
a  lame  arm.  As  we  came  up  to  him  he  held  his  hat 
out  without  recognising  us.  But  the  first  word  spoken 
was  enough. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  you  are  the  gentlemen  and  lady 
who  like  to  hear  stories  ;  come  and  listen  now  to  this 
one  of  the  miller  who  sold  his  wares  in  the  market  of 
Le  Faouet." 


78  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

&  HcpnD  of  He  jfaouet* 

THE  MILLER  AND  HIS  LORD. 

A  GOOD  many  years  ago  there  lived  at  Meslay — :which 
village  is,  as  you  know,  at  some  little  distance  from 
Le  Faouet — a  very  poor  miller.  So  poor  was  he  that 
Michaelmas  had  come  and  gone  four  times  without  his 
paying  the  rent  of  his  mill  to  the  Baron  his  Lord. 

The  Baron  went  out  for  a  day's  shooting,  and  finding 
no  sport  turned  to  come  home  in  a  very  bad  temper. 

What  should  he  meet  with  on  the  way  but  the 
miller's  cow,  so  he  fired  at  her  and  shot  her  dead. 

The  miller's  wife  was  not  far  off,  and  saw  what  had 
happened  ;  she  ran  home  as  fast  as  she  could  to  her 
husband. 

"  Alas  !  alas  !"  she  cried,  "  we  are  ruined.  The  Lord 
Baron  has  killed  our  cow." 

The  miller  said  nothing,  but  he  thought  a  good 
deal,  and  he  resolved  to  take  vengeance  when  the  time 
came. 

He  skinned  his  cow  that  night,  and  as  he  lived  some 
miles  from  Le  Faouet,  and  next  day  was  market-day 
there,  he  started  off  about  midnight  with  his  cow-skin 
over  his  shoulder. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  79 

He  soon  reached  a  thick  wood,  and  he  remembered 
that  it  was  said  to  be  the  resort  of  a  band  of  robbers. 
Such  a  panic  seized  him  that  he  climbed  up  a  tree  and 
waited  for  daylight.  He  had  not  been  long  in  hiding 
when  he  heard  a  noise,  and  soon  the  band  of  robbers 
stopped  under  the  very  tree  he  was  in  to  divide  their 
plunder. 

By  the  light  of  a  lantern  they  had  with  them,  the 
miller  saw  a  store  of  treasures  spread  on  the  ground, 
and  there  was  a  quarrelling  and  noise  over  it,  the  like  of 
which  he  had  never  heard. 

"  Parbleu,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  if  I  could  only  get 
hold  of  that  money  I  should  be  a  rich  man,"  and  suddenly 
he  drops  the  cow-skin  down  among  the  quarrellers. 

At  sight  of  the  horned  head  and  black  hide — for  it 
was  a  black  cow  remember — the  robbers  thought  Satan 
had  come  for  their  souls.  Off  they  scamper  as  fast  as 
they  can,  leaving  their  treasure  on  the  ground. 

"  Well  done  you,"  says  the  miller,  "  that  was  a 
happy  thought." 

Down  he  scrambles  out  of  the  tree,  gathers  up  the 
money,  stows  it  away  in  his  cow-skin,  and  runs  all  the 
way  home. 

The  miller  and  his  wife  went  on  counting  the 
money  till  daybreak,  and  then  they  gave  over.  It  was 
quite  beyond  their  arithmetic. 


80  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

So  next  morning  the  miller  bade  his  wife  go  and 
borrow  a  bushel  measure  from  the  Baron. 

She  went  up  to  the  castle  and  gave  her  husband's 
message. 

"  What  can  you  want  with  a  bushel  measure?"  said 
the  Baron  scornfully. 

"  My  Lord  Baron,  we  want  to  measure  money  with 
it" 

"  Money — did  you  say  money  ?      Do  you  dare  to 
mock  me,  woman  ?" 

"I    mock   you! — No,   no,   my   Lord   Baron,   I   am 
telling  you  the  truth.      Come  and  see  for  yourself." 

So  the  Baron   went  home  with    the  miller's  wife, 
not  knowing  what  to  think. 

When   he  saw   the  table  all   covered   with    crown 
pieces,  he  was  beside  himself  with  surprise. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  money  from  ?"  he  asked, 
eagerly. 

"  I  got  it  by  selling  my  cow-skin,  my  Lord   Baron, 
which  I  sold  at  the  market  Le  Faouet,  yesterday." 

"  Your  cow-skin  ?      Cow-skins  are  fetching  a  good 
price  then." 

"  I   should  think  so,  my  Lord,  and  you  did  me  a 
great  service  when  you  killed  my  cow." 

The    Baron  stared  ;    he   said  nothing,  no    not  so 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  8 1 

much  as  fare  you  well,  he  ran  off  to  his  castle  at  full 
speed,  and  gave  orders  to  kill  and  skin  every  cow  he 
had.  Next  market-day  he  sent  off  one  of  his  men  to 
Le  taouet  with  his  cowskins, —there  was  a  horse-load 
of  them, — and  told  him  to  ask  a  bushel  of  silver  for 
every  skin. 

The  man  rode  off  with  the  skins,  and  after  a  \vhLe 
he  reached  the  great  marketplace  of  Le  Faoue't. 

"  How  do  you  sell  your  skins  ?  "  said  a  tanner,  eyeing 
the  load  on  the  horse. 

"  A  bushel's  weight  of  silver  for  each  skin,"  an- 
swered the  servant. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  tanner,  "  be  serious  can't 
you  ;  how  much  a  skin  ?" 

"  What  I  tell  you,  a  bushel's  weight  of  silver." 

Another  tanner  came  up  and  got  the  same  answer, 
another,  and  then  another,  till  at  last  all  the  tanners 
grew  so  angry,  that  they  set  upon  the  poor  servant, 
beat  him,  rolled  him  on  the  ground,  and  took  all  his 
skins  away  from  him. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  castle  his  Lord  came 
out  eagerly. 

"  Where  is  the  money  ? "  he  said. 

"  Ah,  the  money,"  the  poor  fellow  scratched  his 
head.  "  I  know  nothing  about  money,  I  only  got 


82  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

blows  and  kicks  at  Le  Faouet  ;  I  am  bruised  from  head 
to  foot." 

"  The  miller  has  cheated  me,"  cried  the  Baron  in  a 
rage,  "  but  never  mind,  my  turn  will  come." 

The  miller  cut  up  the  dead  cow  and  made  a  grand 
supper,  and  then  he  bade  his  wife  go  and  invite  the 
Lord  Baron  to  come  to  it. 

So  she  went  and  delivered  her  husband's  invitation. 

"How  now?"  The  Baron  grew  red  with  rage. 
"  How  dare  you  mock  me  again  ;  mocking  me  in  my 
own  house  too." 

She  wrung  her  hands. 

"  Mon  Dieu,  my  good  Lord,  how  could  I  dare  make 
fun  of  you  ?  Neither  I  nor  my  husband  would  venture 
to  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Baron,  "  I  will  come,  if  it  is  only  to 
give  your  husband  a  bit  of  my  mind.  He  thinks  to 
outwit  me  perhaps." 

So  the  Baron  came  and  supped  at  the  mill.  There 
was  quite  a  feast :  fruit,  and  bacon,  and  roast  beef. 
There  was  cider,  and  wine,  and  brandy ;  never  had 
there  been  such  a  spread  at  the  mill. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  meal,  when  the  liquor  had 
been  pretty  freely  drunk,  and  had  warmed  the  hearts 
of  the  company,  the  miller  said  to  his  Lord — 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY,  83 

"  All  the  world  knows  how  knowing  you  are,  my 
good  Lord,  and  yet,  with  all  your  sharpness,  I  wager 
you  are  not  able  to  do  what  I  can  do." 

"How  so?" 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  raise  the  dead.  Now  I 
will  kill  my  wife  before  your  face,  and  then  bring 
her  to  life  again  by  playing  the  fiddle." 

"  I  bet  you  twenty  crowns  you  won't  do  it,"  says  the 
Baron  eagerly. 

"  And  I  bet  twenty  crowns  that  I  will." 

"  Let  us  see  it  done,  let  us  see  it  done,"  cry  all  the 
rest.  "  The  Lord  Baron  holds  to  his  wager." 

The  miller  snatches  a  knife  from  the  table,  springs 
at  his  wife  and  makes  a  feint  of  cutting  her  throat,  and 
she  falls  to  all  appearance  dead  on  the  ground,  but  the 
miller  has  really  only  cut  a  bladder  full  of  blood  pur- 
posely slung  round  her  neck. 

The  Baron,  too  far  off  to  detect  the  trick,  was  horrified 
when  he  saw  the  blood  spout  forth. 

But  the  miller  takes  up  his  fiddle,  settles  it  under 
his  chin,  and  begins  to  play  a  lively  air,  and  at  the  sound 
of  the  first  notes  his  wife  jumps  up,  and  dances  away 
as  if  nothing  had  ever  ailed  her,  while  the  Baron  stands 
gaping  at  her  in  staring  wonder. 

"  Give  me  that  fiddle,  miller," — he  stretches  out  his 


84  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

hand  for  it,  "  and  I  will  let  you  off  two  years'  rent  for 
the  mill." 

"  Agreed,"  says  the  miller,  the  bargain  is  struck,  and 
the  Baron  hurries  home  in  the  greatest  delight  with  the 
fiddle  under  his  arm. 

Going  along  he  says  to  himself,  "  This  is  a  clever 
thing  I  have  learnt  from  that  dolt  of  a  miller.  My 
wife  is  getting  old,  and  by  this  means  I  can  make  her 
young  and  able  to  dance  again." 

He  soon  reaches  home,  and  finds  his  wife  sound 
asleep  in  bed. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  thinks  the  Baron,  "  she  will 
be  none  the  wiser,  good  woman." 

So  he  fetches  a  long  and  sharp  knife  from  the 
kitchen,  and  cuts  his  wife's  throat,  and  then  he  plays 
the  fiddle,  but  he  played  and  played  till  his  wrists  ached  ; 
the  poor  woman  never  even  stirred,  she  was  as  dead  as 
a  sheep. 

"  What  a  fool  that  miller  is,"  the  Baron  thought  ; 
"  he  bids  me  cut  my  wife's  throat,  and  now,  when  I 
play  the  fiddle  just  as  he  did,  she  does  not  come  to  life 
one  bit.  He  must  have  left  out  something.  I  must 
go  at  once  and  ask  him  what  else  I  must  do." 

So  off  he  ran  to  the  mill  ;  when  he  got  there,  he 
saw  the  miller  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  holding  a  whip,  with 
which  he  was  furiously  whipping  a  huge  caldron  which 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  85 

* 
stood  out   in  the  midst  of  the  mill-yard   full  of  boiling 

water.  The  caldron  had  just  been  taken  off  the  fire, 
but  you  see  the  Baron  knew  nothing  of  this. 

"Holy Peter, miller;"  he  cried,  "what  are  you  about?" 

The  Baron  was  so  surprised  at  this  sight  that  he 
stood  open-mouthed  gazing  at  the  miller.  He  forgot 
all  about  his  dead  wife. 

"  I  am  making  the  soup  boil,  my  Lord.  See  how 
fast  it  boils." 

The  Baron  goes  close  up  to  the  caldron  and  looks 
at  it  with  much  attention. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see,"  he  says  ;  "  and  do  you  mean  to  tell 
me  that  your  whip  can  make  soup  boil  in  this  fashion  ?" 

"To  be  sure  it  can,  my  Lord.  I  do  it  to  save  wood  ; 
bless  your  lordly  heart,  wood  is  much  too  dear  and 
costly  for  the  like  of  us." 

"  So  it  is  ;  you  speak  truly,  varlet ;"  then,  stretching 
out  his  hand,  "  give  me  that  whip,  miller,  and  I  will  for- 
give you  the  other  two  years." 

"  A  bargain,  my  lord  Baron  ;   I  give  it  to  you." 

So  the  Baron  takes  the  whip  from  the  miller  and 
hastens  back  to  his  castle. 

On  his  way  home  he  says  to  himself,  "And  now  I 
will  cut  down  all  my  woods  ;  their  sale  will  bring  me  in 
a  heap  of  money." 


86  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

And  when  he  reached  home  he  sold  every  tree  on 
his  land. 

One  Saturday  evening  the  Baron's  cook  came  to 
him  with  a  sorely  troubled  face. 

"  My  Lord,"  she  said,  "  how  am  I  to  cook  the  dinner 
to-morrow  ?  I  have  now  neither  wood  nor  faggots  to 
burn,  they  are  all  spent." 

"  All  right,"  her  master  answers ;  "  do  not  you  trouble 
yourself,  cook,  I  know  how  to  manage  without  wood  or 
faggots  either." 

Next  day  being  Sunday,  the  Baron  bids  his  house- 
hold attend  high  mass. 

"  Go  all  of  you,"  says  he,  "  men  and  women  too. 
Grand  Jean  only  will  stay  at  home  with  me." 

Now  Grand  Jean  was  very  tall,  and  he  was  the 
Baron's  chief  attendant. 

"  And  the  dinner,  my  Lord,"  says  the  anxious  cook  ; 
"who  will  get  that  ready?" 

"  Do  not  you  trouble  yourself,  but  take  yourself  off 
to  church  as  I  bid  you." 

So  off  they  all  start  for  the  village  church. 

As  soon  as  they  are  all  out  of  sight  the  Baron  says 
to  Grand  Jean, 

"  Bring  the  great  caldron,  and  set  it  in  the  middle 
of  the  yard,  and  now  fill  it  with  water." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  87 

Then  the  Baron  puts  into  the  caldron  fat  and  salt- 
meat,  cabbages  and  turnips,  salt  and  pepper, — every- 
thing, in  short,  requisite  to  make  good  soup.  Next  he 
takes  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  begins  to  whip 
the  water  in  the  caldron  with  the  miller's  whip — but  it 
is  in  vain — he  whips  and  whips,  and  the  water  re- 
mains as  cold  as  at  first. 

"  My  Lord,  my  Lord,"  cries  the  astonished  Grand 
Jean,  "  what  are  you  doing  there  ?" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  fool,  and  you  will  see." 

And  Grand  Jean  stands  looking,  and  the  Baron 
begins  to  whip  again  with  all  his  might.  Every  now 
and  then  he  puts  a  finger  into  the  caldron,  but  the 
water  gets  no  warmer,  and  he  begins  to  whip  again. 

At  last  he  stops  quite  tired  out.  "  Grand  Jean," 
he  cries  furiously,  "  I  begin  to  fear  the  miller  has 
hoaxed  me." 

"  He  has  certainly  hoaxed  you,  my  Lord,"  says 
Grand  Jean,  "  there  can  be  no  doubt  about  it." 

"  Never  mind,  he  shall  die,  and  then  there'll  be  an 
end  to  his  hoaxes." 

"  Give  him  a  sound  taste  of  your  whip  instead,  my 
Lord.  Death  is  a  heavy  punishment." 

"  No,  no !  I  tell  you,  nothing  but  death  will  cure 
him.  Hoaxing  me  indeed  —  his  lord  and  master ! 


88  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

Come  along  quick  to  the  mill — bring  a  sack  with  ycu 
— hurry  along — we  will  tie  the  miller  in  the  sack  and 
throw  him  in  the  great  pond  and  let  him  drown." 

Grand  Jean  shrugged  his  shoulders,  then  he  threw 
a  sack  across  them,  and  followed  his  master  to  the 
miller. 

They  seized  the  poor  miller  at  unawares,  and  tied 
him  up  in  the  sack,  and  then  they  hoisted  it  across 
the  mill-horse,  for  the  great  pond  was  some  distance  off. 

As  they  went  along,  they  saw  coining  along  the 
_road  behind  them  a  merchant  with  three  horses  laden 
with  bales  of  goods.  The  great  fair  of  Le  Faouet  was 
to  take  place  next  day,  and  he  was  on  his  way  to  it. 
The  Baron  was  greatly  frightened  ;  he  wanted  to  drown 
the  miller,  but  he  did  not  want  to  be  found  out. 

"Come  along,  Grand  Jean,"  he  cries  ;  "let  us  hide 
behind  the  hedge  bank  out  of  sight  till  the  merchant 
has  passed  by." 

And  in  a  twinkle  he  and  Grand  Jean  have 
scrambled  up  the  high  bank  over  the  hedge,  and  down 
out  of  sight  and  hearing  into  the  field  beyond,  leaving 
the  sack  with  the  miller  in  it  leaning  against  the  bank 
beside  the  road  ;  for  the  great  pond  is  so  near  that 
they  have  lifted  the  sack  down  from  the  mill-horse. 

When   the   miller  hears  the  trot  trot  of  the   mer- 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  89 

chant's  horses,  he  cries  out,  "  No,  I  will  not  take  her — 
I  will  not  take  her." 

At  this  the  astonished  merchant  goes  up  to  the  sack. 

"  Hulloa,"  he  exclaims,  "  what  does  this  mean  ? 
who  are  you  in  the  sack  ?"  But  the  miller  cries  out  the 
more,  "  I  will  not  have  her — no,  I  will  not  have  her." 

"You  will  not  have  whom  ?"  asks  the  merchant. 

"  The  only  daughter  of  a  rich  Baron,  he  is  very 
rich  ;  and  he  has  only  this  child,  and  he  is  carrying  me 
off  so  as  to  force  me  to  marry  her." 

"And  is  she  really  very1  rich  ?"  the  merchant  asks 
greedily. 

"  Rich  !  I  believe  you,  richer  than  any  one  in  these 
parts." 

"  Then  I  will  willingly  marry  her,"  says  the  mer- 
chant, eagerly. 

"  Very  well,  nothing  is  easier,  you  have  only  to 
take  my  place  in  the  sack,  and  she  is  yours  ;  only  be 
quick  about  it.  The  Baron  will  be  back  directly." 

The  merchant  unties  the  sack,  lets  out  the  miller, 
and  takes  his  place,  and  the  miller  ties  him  up  securely, 
and  then  smacking  the  merchant's  whip  he  drives  the 
baggage  horses  on  to  Le  Faoue't. 

He  is  scarcely  out  of  sight  when  the  Baron  and 
Grand  Jean  come  back  to  the  sack. 


9o  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  I  will  have  her — I  will  marry  her,"  cries  the 
merchant. 

"You  will  marry  whom  ?"  asks  the  Baron. 

"  Your  daughter,  my  lord." 

Now  the  Baron  had  no  daughter. 

"  Ah,  son  of  Satan,"  he  cries  ;  "  go  and  seek  her  then 
at  the  bottom  of  the  great  pond." 

And  with  that  they  took  up  the  sack  and  flung  it 
into  the  pond ;  and  the  merchant  has  not  since  been 
heard  of. 

Next  morning  the  Baron  and  his  attendant,  Grand 
Jean,  go  off  to  the  fair  at  Le  Faouet. 

They  visit  one  gay  shop  after  another  ;  but  all  at 
once  they  stand  still — they  are  struck  with  amazement 
— for  there  stands  the  miller  of  Meslay  behind  a  counter 
spread  with  shining  jewellery. 

"  How  now,  miller,"  says  the  Baron  ;  "  is  it  really 
you?" 

"  Yes,  certainly,  my  Lord.  You  will  buy  some 
trinkets  of  me,  will  you  not  ?" 

"  But  how  is  it  you  are  not  in  the  pond  ?" 

"  Aha,  you  see,  my  Lord,  I  was  not  comfortable 
there  ;  .and  yet  I  return  you  many  thanks  for  my 
ducking,  for  it  is  in  the  pond  that  I  found  all  the 
beautiful  things  you  see  here." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  91 

"  You  do  not  say  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  do.  I  only  regret  one  thing,  and  that 
is,  that  you  did  not  throw  me  a  little  farther  in  ;  if  you 
had  done  so  I  should  have  fallen  among  the  golden 
trinkets,  these  you  see  are  only  silver  gilt." 

"  Is  that  so?" 

"  As  true  as  I  stand  here,  my  Lord." 

"  Then  the  golden  trinkets  are  there  still." 

"  Yes,  at  least  I  fancy  so,  but  you  must  hasten  if 
you  really  want  to  find  them." 

"  Saint  Fiacre  !  this  is  indeed  news,"  and  off  went 
the  Baron  as  fast  as  he  could,  and  off  went  Grand  Jean 
behind  him.  They  rode  home,  and  then  -they  ran  to 
the  pond.  Grand  Jean  got  there  first ;  he  jumped  in, 
and  as  he  was  very  tall  he  raised  his  hand  high  out 
of  the  water  to  ask  for  help,  for  the  poor  fellow  could 
not  swim. 

"  See  there,"  says  the  Baron,  "  he  points  to  tell  me 
to  jump  farther  ;  what  a  good  fellow,  he  doubtless  sees 
the  gold  farther  in." 

And  he  runs  back,  takes  a  spring,  and  jumps  as  far 
as  he  can  into  the  water. 

And  since  then 'he  has  never  been  heard  of. 

And  this  is  the  story  of  the  miller  of  Meslay. 


CHATEAU   OF   HENAN. 


CHAPTER  V. 

PONT-AVEN— THE   LEGEND   OF  THE   ROCKING-STONE   OF 
TREGUNC. 

FROM  Quimperle  we  drove  over  to  Pont-Aven,  a  quaint 
little  town  picturesquely  situated  on  the  river  Aven. 
The  Bretons  often  call  Pont-Aven  "  the  town  of  millers," 
there  are  so  many  mills  on  the  rock-strewn  little  river. 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS.  93 

Pont-Aven  is  a  favourite  resort  of  artists,  French, 
English,  and  American,  who  lodge  chiefly  at  the  Hotel 
des  Voyageurs,  where  capital  accommodation  is  to  be 
found.  They  seem  to  be  "  a  happy  band  of  brothers." 
At  this  hotel  lived  for  a  long  time  the  clever  American 
artist  Robert  Wylie.  He  received  his  art  education  in 
France,  and  his  work  is  not  much  known  in  England,  but 
his  vivid  transcripts  of  Breton  life  are  well  known  in 
France  and,  no  doubt,  in  his  native  country.  To  the 
great  loss  of  art  (he  was  at  his  prime  of  work)  he  died 
about  a  year  ago  very  suddenly.  His  kindness  to  the 
young  artists  who  visited  Pont-Aven  was  very  great. 

The  river  Aven  runs  through  a  picturesque  valley 
to  the  sea.  At  the  mouth  of  this  river  stands  the 
Chateau  of  Henan,  a  fine  castle  built  in  the  second  half  of 
the  fifteenth  century.  Rising  above  the  trees  that  sur- 
round it,  it  is  a  picturesque  feature  in  the  landscape. 

From  Pont-Aven  we  went  on  to  Concarneau,  famous 
for  its  sardine  fishing.  On  the  way  we  stopped  near 
the  village  of  Tregunc  to  see  the  famous  Rocking-Stone. 
It  stands  close  to  the  high  road,  and  is  one  of  the  wonders 
of  South  Brittany.  The  following  wild  legend  is  told 
about  this  huge  stone,  called  "  la  pierre  aux  maris 
trompes." 


94 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


Kocfcmg>£>tcme  of 

CHAPTER  I. 
ANNIK. 

"  MOUSSE,  Mousse  !  Ah,  but  she's  a  cruel  little  beast  ; 
and  yet,  to  see  her,  smooth  as  velvet,  and  to  hear  her 
purr,  one  would  say,  what  a  gentle  cat  is  Mousse  !  Ah  ! 
but  she  is  a  cat  after  all." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  95 

The  cat  sat  still,  her  black  velvet-like  coat  glistening 
in  the  sunshine.  Evidently  she  did  not  understand 
reproof.  At  Annik's  words  she  purred  more  complacently 
than  ever,  without  even  a  look  at  her  pretty  young 
mistress.  Her  green  eyes  were  fixed  intently  on  two 
large  blue -bottle  flies  hovering  about  the  exquisitely 
rosy  flowers  of  a  great  oleander  that  stood  in  its  green 
box  outside  the  cottage  door. 

Annik  shook  her  head  at  the  cat,  and  then  she 
crossed  one  leg  over  the  other,  pulled  off  her  shoe  and 
stocking,  and  began  to  examine  her  foot.  It  was  a 
small  well-shaped  foot,  and  looked  very  pretty,  just 
peeping  from  beneath  her  petticoat  ;  but,  spite  of  the 
thickness  of  her  leather  shoe,  the  girl  felt  that  a  thorn 
had  pierced  it,  and  she  gave  a  little  cry  of  relief  as  she 
saw  one  end  of  the  thorn  still  projecting  from  the  skin. 
The  wings  of  her  snowy  cap  spread,  as  she  bent  forward, 
and  showed  glossy  dark  hair  rolled  closely  away  from 
her  face  ;  her  eyes  too  were  dark,  with  long  black  lashes 
resting  on  cheeks  almost  as  rosy  as  the  oleander  blossom 
under  which  she  sat. 

Annik  was  as  pretty  a  little  Breton  maid  as  could 
be  seen  in  Finistere  ;  and  her  costume  was  deliciously 
quaint.  Her  greenish  blue  home-spun  apron  hid  the 
front  of  her  skirt  of  darker  blue,  and  reached  quite  to 


96  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

the  bottom  of  it  ;  her  charming  winged  white  cap  made 
exquisite  light  and  shade  on  the  sweet  young  face ;  the 
bodice  of  her  gown  was  black,  as  was  also  the  inner 
body,  which  had  long  sleeves  ;  both  were  trimmed  with 
black  velvet,  embroidered  in  lines  of  flame-coloured  silk, 
and  the  square  opening  in  front  was  filled  with  a  fluted 
chemisette,  ending  in  a  frill  of  home-made  lace  round 
the  slender  throat  ;  below  the  chemisette  her  bodice 
was  laced  across  with  pale  blue  silk  cord. 

Something  in  the  girl's  appearance  seemed  out  of 
keeping  with  the  small  one-storied  cottage,  with  its 
overhanging  oaken  beams,  in  front  of  which  she  sat, 
from  one  of  which  beams,  over  the  doorway,  hung  a 
bunch  of  mistletoe,  signifying  that  cider  was  to  be  had 
within.  Beyond  the  cottage,  the  road  went  uphill,  and 
soon  the  sunshine,  instead  of  shedding  down  a  full  stream 
of  light,  like  that  in  which  the  black  cat  sat  purring, 
asserted  itself  only  in  flecks  and  chequers  of  irregular 
design.  For  overhead,  stretching  across  the  road  from 
the  high  bank  on  either  side,  as  if  to  exchange  greetings, 
were  huge  spreading  chestnut  boughs  with  fans  of 
exquisite  green  leaves.  A  little  higher  up,  the  bank 
ended  on  the  same  side  as  the  cottage,  and  a  group  of 
chestnuts  stood  on  a  wide  opening  of  still  rising  ground. 
Here  the  light  was  yet  more  brilliant  ;  the  dull  yellow 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  97 

of  the  ground  between  the  tree-trunks  seemed  paved 
here  and  there  with  tesserae  of  gold,  where  corn  had 
been  threshed  in  front  of  the  great  stone  farm-house 
that  stood  back  among  the  trees.  Opposite,  on  the 
right,  was  a  tall  grey  calvary,  and  the  road  sloping 
downwards  from  this  led  to  the  church. 

Annik  took  out  the  thorn,  and  just  as  she  began  to 
draw  her  stocking  over  her  pretty  foot,  a  man  appeared 
at  the  top  of  the  road  coming  from  beyond  the  farm- 
house. There  had  been  no  rain  for  several  days,  and 
his  tread  was  not  heard  at  that  distance  on  the  dusty 
ground.  He  came  along  with  a  lowering  expression  of 
discontent,  swinging  the  arm,  which  held  his  heavy 
cudgel  ;  his  large,  black,  low-crowned  hat  pulled  over 
his  eyes.  All  at  once  he  saw  Annik.  He  stopped, 
thrust  his  empty  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  gazed 
earnestly  forward.  His  wide  mouth,  open  with  surprise, 
showed  a  range  of  gleaming  wolf-like  teeth.  He  re- 
pressed the  exclamation  on  his  tongue,  lest  he  should 
disturb  the  picture  below  him,  and  stood  still  gazing. 

Annik  had  left  off  talking  to  the  cat ;  she  sat 
leisurely  putting  on  her  shoe,  crooning  meanwhile  a 
wailing  cradle  ditty,  as  if  the  little  foot  were  a  baby, 
and  she  were  lulling  it  to  sleep. 

The  man's  face  meantime  had  changed  strangely. 
H 


98  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

As  he  came  in  sight  you  would  have  said  that  love  and 
joy  could  have  found  no  power  of  expression  in  his 
features  ;  now,  as  he  stood  gazing,  pleasure  at  least  shone 
out  of  his  eyes,  mingled  with  delighted  admiration. 

He  had  been  too  much  absorbed  to  heed  any  sound, 
but  footsteps  had  been  for  some  minutes  toiling  up  the 
stony  road  from  the  church,  and  now  the  tall  bent  figure 
of  a  priest,  with  his  breviary  under  his  arm,  and  a  small 
bag  in  one  hand,  came  behind  the  gazer.  The  priest, 
who  was  no  other  than  the  Cur6  of  the  village,  looked 
intently  when  he  saw  a  stranger,  and  then  rapidly 
beyond  him,  to  see  what  had  fixed  his  attention.  The 
Cure^  was  very  thin,  with  small,  mild  blue  eyes,  but  he 
looked  healthy,  and  the  colour  on  his  cheek  deepened 
with  vexation  as  he  followed  the  strong  dark  gaze  down- 
hill, and  saw  on  whom  it  rested.  He  went  on  past  the 
strange  man,  and  then  turned  back  and  looked  in  his 
face — only  to  be  seen  by  a  direct  front  view,  for  the 
man's  high  shirt-collar  hid  the  lower  part  of  his  features, 
and  his  long  dark  hair  fell  over  his  eyes  and  cheeks. 
The  eyes  were  deep-set  and  unpleasant  in  expression. 
They  scanned  the  priest  searchingly  ;  then  the  man 
pulled  off  his  hat,  and  gave  an  awkward  smile. 

"  Good  morning,  father  ;  you  have  forgotten  Lao 
Coatfrec,  it  seems." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  99 

The  priest  started,  and  then,  while  he  returned  the 
greeting,  looked  intently  at  the  hard  determined  face. 
It  was  handsome,  perhaps,  as  regarded  colour  and 
features,  but  there  was  no  beauty  of  expression  :  the 
lower  nature  reigned  supreme. 

"  Lao  !  is  it  indeed  Lao  ?"  and  then  the  Cure  stood 
silent.  He  looked  disturbed  and  hesitating,  as  if  he 
wished  to  speak,  and  yet  was  withheld  by  prudence. 

Meantime  Lao's  eyes  had  travelled  back  to  Annik. 
He  said  abruptly,  "  Father,  who  is  the  young  girl  beside 
the  cottage  ?  I  have  been  away  so  long  that  the  young 
ones  have  grown  out  of  remembrance." 

Again  the  Cur6  looked  disturbed.  "  You  are  not 
likely  to  remember  that  young  woman,  Lao  ;  she  is  not 
a  Ke>ion  girl  ;  she  comes  from  Auray.  Her  aunt 
married  the  widower  Guerik — you  remember  him  at  the 
farm  here?"  He  looked  back  at  the  stone  farm-house. 
"  His  second  wife  and  her  niece,  Annik,  came  from 
Auray  ;  and  when  the  wife  died,  a  year  ago,  the  niece 
remained  with  Guerik." 

Lao  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  his  dark  eyes 
gleamed  with  curiosity. 

"  I  hope  she  has  enough  to  keep  her,"  he  said  care- 
lessly. "  Guerik,  as  I  remember  him,  is  not  a  man  who 
would  care  to  be  burdened  with  a  child  who  is  not  of 
his  blood." 


loo  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

The  priest  was  too  simple  to  see  Lao's  drift.  His 
cheeks  flushed  a  little  as  he  answered — 

"  Annik  lives  with  farmer  Guerik  because  she  is  his 
niece  by  marriage,  and  because  she  is  alone  in  the 
world.  She  has  no  blood  relations,  but  she  has  a  good 
sum  put  by  for  her,  and  the  prettiest  little  cow  in  Guerik's 
stable  is  Annik's.  One  has  only  to  look  at  her  and  see 
that  she  is  no  beggar :  and  she  is  good  ;  yes,  she  is  very 
good." 

His  voice  sank  to  a  faint  murmur.  As  he  ended, 
the  good  father  suddenly  remembered  the  admiration 
he  had  remarked  in  Lao's  eyes.  He  felt  he  was  saying 
too  much,  and  he  wished  he  had  not  praised  Annik  or 
said  a  word  about  her  money. 

"  And  where  have  you  been  all  these  years  ?"  he 
said  quickly.  "  We  heard  that  you  had  gone  to  sea  ; 
you  must  have  been  away  eight  years  or  more." 

"  About  that  time,  Monsieur.  I  went  to  try  the 
fishing,  and  then  I  heard  of  my  mother's  death," — here 
Lao's  eyes  drooped  under  the  priest's  gaze, — "  I  went 
away  to  foreign  parts  then  ;  and  to-day  I  have  come 
back  here  to  see  my  grandmother." 

The  Cure  crossed  himself. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  your  grandmother  is  not  a  good 
companion  for  old  or  young,  Lao  ;  age  does  not  mend 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  101 

Ursula.  She  despises  all  that  you  were  taught  to  rever- 
ence when  you  were  a  boy." 

"  That  is  a  long  time  ago,  Monsieur."  Lao  laughed. 
"  I  love  the  poor  old  woman  ;  she  is  all  I  have  in  the 
world  to  care  for  ;  I  am  sure  there  is  no  harm  in  her  ; 
but  she  is  more  clever  than  her  neighbours,  and  so  they 
are  spiteful  ;  it  is  always  so." 

The  Cure  looked  stern  as  well  as  grave. 

"  I  judge  no  man  or  woman  from  report,  Lao.  I 
know  that  Ursule  does  not  fear  God  ;  and  I  warn  you 
against  her  influence." 

Lao  laughed,  and  then  he  hitched  up  the  broad 
leather  belt  he  wore,  and  stopped  in  his  walk. 

"  Good  day  to  you,  father.  I  must  go  and  see  my 
old  gossip  Guerik."  And  he  turned  towards  the  farm- 
house. 

The  priest  went  on  with  trouble  on  his  usually 
placid  face.  As  he  reached  the  bottom  of  the  slope 
Annik  looked  round. 

She  rose  when  she  saw  the  Cure,  and  at  her  smiling 
greeting  his  face  cleared. 

"  Good-day,  my  child.  I  am  going  away,  but  only 
as  far  as  Concarneau  ;  so  you  will  know  where  to  find 
me  if  I  should  be  needed." 

"Going    away!"      Annik's    eyes    opened    in    wide 


102  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

wonder.  She  had  not  lived  many  years  in  Kerion  ;  but 
she  could  not  remember  the  day  when  she  had  not  seen 
Monsieur  le  Cure. 

'•  Is  there  any  reason  why  I  should  stay  at  home, 
my  child  ?  If  there  is,  tell  me  ;"  and  he  smiled. 

"  No  ;  oh,  no  !  forgive  me."  Annik  blushed  with 
confusion.  "  The  change  will  be  good  for  Monsieur, 
but — we  shall  be  all  glad  to  see  him  back." 

"  And  I  glad  to  return,  dear  child."  He  put  his 
hand  on  her  head.  "  I  have  said  I  will  stay  till  Satur- 
day morning,  but  I  may  return  on  Friday — who  knows? 
Go  and  see  Jeanneton  sometimes.  Farewell." 

The  girl  knelt  down  in  the  dusty  road  to  receive 
his  fatherly  blessing.  The  Cure  gave  it,  and  then  he 
passed  quickly  on  his  way  to  Concarneau. 


CHAPTER  II. 

SILVESTIK. 

"  WELL,  good-day,  old  friend  ;  it  was  a  good  chance 
that  brought  you  back  to  Kerion ;  I  will  think  it  over. 
Leave  all  to  me,  and  it  shall  go  smoothly,  I  promise  you." 
The  speaker,  Mathurin  Guerik,  came  to  the  arched 
door  of  his  old  stone  house,  and  nodded  farewell  to  Lao. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY. 


103 


Then  he  smiled,  and  rubbed  his  hard  brown  hands 
together  in  congratulation  of  his  own  manoeuvres. 
Guerik  was  short  and  broad,  and  his  long  red  hair  was 


not  a  becoming  frame  to  his  repulsive  sullen  face.     His 

long  half-shut  grey  eyes  were  twinkling  with  satisfaction. 

"  Nothing  could  have  happened  better.      The  girl 

says  'No  '  to  every  man  I  propose  to  her  ;  and,  indeed, 


104  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

there  are  but  few  to  choose  from  in  Kerion  who  have 
money.  This  one  is  rich  ;  I  can  see  it  even  in  his 
walk  " — he  stood  watching  Lao  Coatfrec  out  of  sight — 
"  and  there  are  no  relations  to  make  troublesome  in- 
quiries about  the  interest  on  Annik's  hoard.  I  know  too 
much  about  Ursule  ;  she  will  not  meddle,  and  I  shall  ask 
no  questions  about  Lao.  Yes  ;  Lao  shall  marry  Annik. 
He  wants  some  ready  money,  and  he  likes  the  girl  ;  and 
he  will  take  her  right  away  to  the  west.  She  will  marry 
him  fast  enough  ;  how  can  she  refuse  a  fine  fellow  like 
that  ?  and  I  shall  be  rid  of  her,  and  of  Monsieur  le  Cure's 
visits.  I  am  tired  of  being  watched  over  and  talked  to 
as  if  I  were  a  sick  woman." 

He  stuffed  both  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his 
breeches,  which  were  pear-shaped,  and  made  of  un- 
bleached coarse  jean  gathered  into  innumerable  tiny 
plaits  ;  below  them  came  black  cloth  leggings,  trimmed 
with  faded  embroidery  and  buttoned  with  small  metal 
buttons  down  to  the  ankle. 

"Annik!"  he  called,  in  his  hoarse  voice — "Annik, 
I  have  something  to  say."  Guerik  turned  towards  the 
house,  but  there  was  no  answer. 

The  road  had  been  empty  since  Lao  departed,  but 
now,  here  was  Annik  coming  up  from  the  church  ;  and 
down  the  road  which  Lao  had  taken  came  a  tall 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  105 

young  fellow,  walking  briskly,  whistling  as  he  came. 
Looking  straight  before  him,  a  moment  ago  this  bright- 
haired  happy-faced  youth  had  a  fearless,  honest  face 
which  won  the  beholder  ;  but  as  the  young  girl  stepped 
into  the  road  his  fearless  look  faded  into  a  timid,  almost 
beseeching  glance,  his  well-knit  limbs  moved  less 
freely,  and  his  head  was  less  saucily  erect ;  and  as  Annik 
saw  him,  and  nodded,  and  then  moved  across  towards 
the  farm-house,  the  young  man  reddened  and  stopped 
awkwardly  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  as  he  said  "good 
day." 

"You  called  me,  uncle?"  said  Annik. 

The  farmer  had  turned,  and  saw  the  timid  greeting 
exchanged.  He  answered  gruffly, 

"  Yes — yes.      Jeff  has  need  of  help  ;  go,  she  waits." 

A  little  pout  closed  the  girl's  lips.  She  gave  a  linger- 
ing look  over  her  shoulder,  and  then  went  slowly  into 
the  house.  As  she  passed  her  uncle  she  said  dryly — 

"Jeff  did  not  need  help  when  I  left  her.  She  is 
growing  lazy." 

Then  she  held  up  her  pretty  head,  and  walked  on 
with  the  air  of  a  young  queen. 

"  I  am  tired  of  these  airs,"  the  farmer  murmured  ; 
"  it  is  not  pleasant  that  a  young  chit  like  Annik  should 
be  so  independent — she  shall  be  tamed.  Ah,  good  day, 
Silvestik  ;  you  have  left  work  early  to-day  ;  why  so  ?" 


io6  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  Yes,  1  have  left  work  early,  Mathurin  Guerik. 
My  cousin,  the  miller  of  Nizon,  is  ill  ;  and  he  has  sent 
to  say  that  I  am  to  go  and  help  him,  that  I  am  to  be 
as  his  son,  and  that  when  he  dies,  the  mill,  and  all  that 
he  has,  is  to  be  mine." 

"  Some  folk  count  chickens  through  the  egg-shell, 
Silvestik.  Well,  go  your  way,  and  prosper  better  at 
Nizon  than  you  have  prospered  at  Kerion.  Lao  Coatfrec, 
who  went  away  in  disgrace,  and  who  you  all  said  had 
gone  to  the  bad,  has  come  back  to-day  rich  and  pros- 
perous. Go  and  do  likewise." 

Silvestik  looked  sharply  at  the  farmer. 

"  Lao  Coatfrec  !  has  he  come  back  ?  Well,  I  fear 
his  riches  are  not  fairly  got  ;  if,  indeed,  he  is  rich.  He 
is  a  smuggler  :  every  one  knows  it,  and  ugly  things  have 
happened  to  him  and  to  his  crew." 

Guerik's  sullen  face  grew  purple,  and  he  growled  a 
fierce  oath  between  his  teeth. 

"  Lao  is  not  a  milksop,  and  so  he  is  a  mark  for  evil 
tongues.  Take  my  advice,  young  man,"  he  went  on 
harshly,  "  keep  your  mouth  shut,  or  you  may  find  stones 
in  your  teeth.  Lao  is  my  friend." 

Silvestik  looked  troubled.  He  had  plenty  of  in- 
telligence, but  he  was  slow  in  piecing  facts  together  ; 
and  at  this  moment  his  head  was  so  full  of  Annik, 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  107 

that  he  had  no  insight  into  the  extent  of  Guerik's 
anger. 

"  I  did  not  know  that,"  he  said  simply,  "  or  I  should 
have  held  my  tongue  ;  for  I  would  not  willingly  grieve 
you,  Mathurin."  He  stopped  and  looked  sheepish,  then 
he  forced  out  the  words,  "If  all  goes  as  I  wish,  some  day 
I  hope  to  call  you  my  uncle." 

Guerik  broke  into  a  coarse,  derisive  laugh. 

"  Some  folks  are  bent  on  seeing  through  the  egg- 
shell. Go  your  way,  Silvestik.  My  niece  Annik  is  not 
for  a  penniless  lad  with  scarce  a  beard  for  the  barber. 
Go,  I  tell  you  !" 

Guerik  roared  out  the  last  words.  The  young 
man's  eyes  flashed,  and  he  made  a  step  forward  towards 
the  farmer.  But  Guerik  did  not  notice  either  look  or 
movement  ;  as  he  spoke  he  turned  quickly  into  the 
arched  doorway,  and  pushed  the  half-door  violently,  so 
as  to  prevent  any  following. 

Seeing  this,  Silvestik  paused  and  unclenched  his  fists. 

"  I  am  as  foolish  to  be  provoked  by  his  bluster  as 
he  is  to  show  it.  He  has  no  power  over  Annik.  If  I 
were  richer  I  would  speak  to  her  to-day  before  I  go  to 
Nizon  ;  as  it  is,  if  I  were  more  sure — but  she  never 
gives  me  a  smile  or  a  word  that  she  does  not  give  to 
another.  If  I  thought  I  had  a  chance,  then  indeed " 


io3  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

He  went  slowly  down  the  road,  past  the  cottage  in 
front  of  which  Annik  had  been  sitting.  Just  within,  a 
withered  old  woman  sate  with  her  distaff  under  her  arm, 
her  black  cat  striving  every  now  and  then  to  touch  the 
ball  of  yarn  as  it  twirled  beside  her. 

"  Good  morning,  Barba,"  he  said  ;  "  is  your  rheu- 
matism better  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  Her  white  cap  fell  so  low 
on  her  wrinkled  brown  face  that  scarcely  more  than 
the  lipless  mouth  was  visible. 

"  No,  my  lad  ;  it  is  so  bad  that  if  I  had  only  legs 
I  would  go  to  Mother  Ursule,  and  ask  her  to  give  me 
a  charm  for  it." 

"  A  charm  !  Better  ask  Monsieur  le  Cure  to  pray 
our  Lady  to  heal  you." 

The  old  woman  looked,  up  and  blinked  at  him  out 
of  her  almost  shut  blue  eyes.  "  I  have  done  that  over 
and  over  again, — the  pain  goes,  and  then  it  comes 
back.  Mother  Ursule's  cures  are  sure,  but  then  it  is 
so  far  to  seek  them.  Ah  !  what  it  is  to  be  young  ! " 

"  Look  here,  Barba  ;  to-day  I  go  to  Nizon,  but 
to-morrow  if  I  can  I  come  back  to  Kerion  to  settle  my 
affairs  ;  it  will  not  be  much  out  of  my  way  to  seek 
Ursule,  and  get  you  a  charm  against  your  pain." 

The  old  woman  shook  her  head. 


FROM  NORM  AND  Y  AND  BRITTANY.  ic? 

"  She  will  not  give  it  you.  I  must  seek  her  myself 
if  the  charm  is  to  work.  I  would  not  sit  here  suffering 
if  another  could  do  my  errand,  for  Ursule  never  fails. 
She  is  powerful  :  she  can  change  the  wind  ;  she  can 
soften  the  heart  of  the  proudest  maiden  and  make  her 
say  yes.  See  my  bees  ;"  she  pointed  to  a  range  of 
straw  beehives  by  the  side  of  the  cottage.  "  Five  years 
ago  they  would  not  swarm,  but  I  got  a  charm  from 
Ursule,  and  they  have  always  swarmed  since.  Ah, 
she  is  a  wonderful  woman." 

Here  Barba  crossed  herself,  either  for  protection 
against  the  witch,  or  as  an  act  of  faith. 


1 10  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

CHAPTER  III. 

SILVESTIK  RESOLVES  TO  CONSULT  THE  WITCH. 

WHEN  Silvestik  reached  the  mill  of  Nizon  he  found 
that  his  cousin's  health  had  improved. 

"  I  am  better  ;  I  shall  not  die  directly,"  the  sick 
man  said  ;  "  but  that  makes  no  difference  to  you, 
Silvestik.  I  shall  never  walk  again,  my  legs  are  use- 
less ;  and  you  are  as  much  master  of  the  mill  as  if  I 
"lay  in  the  churchyard  ;  but  while  I  live  I  must  keep 
the  name,  and  I  must  have  a  corner  of  the  old  house 
to  live  in." 

Tears  rolled  down  Silvestik's  face. 

His  cousin  had  always  been  good  to  him,  but  till 
lately  two  well-grown  sons  had  barred  any  hope  of 
succession  to  the  mill.  Lately,  one  of  these  had  been 
lost  at  sea,  and  the  other  had  died  of  fever — a  double 
grief  which  had  caused  the  paralysis  from  which  the 
sick  man  could  not  rally. 

His  young  cousin's  sympathy  cheered  the  miller, 
and  he  agreed  to  spare  Silvestik  for  a  few  days,  so 
that  he  might  arrange  his  affairs  at  Kerion  before  he 
came  to  settle  down  for  life  at  Nizon. 

That  night,  when  the  youth  had  stowed  away  his 


FROM  NORM  AND  Y  AND  BRITTANY.  \  1 1 

long  legs  into  one  of  the  cupboard-like  bedsteads  in 
the  chief  room  of  the  mill,  he  could  not  sleep.  He 
lay  thinking  of  all  that  had  taken  place  that  day — of 
Annik,  of  the  farmer's  repulse,  of  the  old  witch  Ursule. 

The  short-drawn  wheezing  breath  told  that  the 
sick  man  was  at  last  asleep,  and  for  some  time  past, 
the  grunts  and  snores  of  the  two  servants — the  miller's 
man  and  his  maid — had  been  sounding  through  the 
great  dark  room.  All  at  once  it  seemed  to  Silvestik 
that  he  heard  the  clack  of  the  mill  and  the  plash,  plash 
of  falling  water,  and  these  sounds  joined  in  a  dull 
chant — "Go  to  Ursule — Ursule — Ursule,"  till  the 
words  came  so  close  they  deafened  him — they  hurt 
his  ears,  and  starting  awake,  he  found  Jean  Marie,  his 
cousin's  man,  bellowing  to  him  that  it  was  time  to  rise. 

The  broad  daylight,  and  the  interest  he  felt  in 
learning  his  new  business,  kept  Silvestik  from  thinking 
of  other  things,  and  he  laughed  and  joked  all  through 
the  morning  with  the  miller's  man.  When  he  came 
in  at  last  from  work  into  the  room  where  his  cousin 
lay,  the  sick  man  smiled  at  him  feebly. 

"  The  sight  of  you  does  me  more  good  than  the 
doctor,"  he  said.  "  Who  knows,  when  you  are  here 
every  day,  and  I  see  your  fresh  face  and  hear  you 
laugh,  and  feel,  too,  that  good  work  is  doing — who 


112  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

knows  but  I  may  mend  and  strengthen  too  ;  but  that 
will  make  no  change  to  you,  my  lad  ;  the  mill  is  yours, 
and  the  papers  will  be  ready  for  you  to  sign  when  you 
come  back." 

He  kept  on  putting  off  the  youth's  departure  till 
the  light  began  to  fade  ;  then,  as  Silvestik  bent  over 
the  tent  bed  on  which  he  lay,  he  laughed,  "  Bring  a 
wife  in  thy  pocket,  young  one  ;  there  is  enough  and 
to  spare  for  you  both,  and  she  will  make  the  place  as 
bright  for  you  as  you  have  made  it  for  me.  Do  what 
-I  say,  Silvestik." 

"  No  such  luck,  cousin."  Silvestik  turned  away 
hurriedly  to  hide  his  red  face,  and  went  out  through 
the  low  doorway. 

It  is  a  wild  piece  of  up-and-down  road  between 
Nizon  and  Kcrion  to  travel  on  a  dark  night ;  more- 
over, it  is  bordered  on  one  side  by  a  vast  stretch  of 
waste  land.  On  this,  sometimes  standing  up  in  naked 
ruggcdness,  sometimes  fallen  and  overgrown  with 
brown  gorse  and  tufts  of  heather,  are  huge  mis-shapen 
blocks  of  granite. 

A  hoarse  wind  had  risen  after  sunset,  and  had 
broken  up  the  dull  leaden  expanse,  so  gloomy  in  the 
daylight,  into  yet  darker  but  less  solid  masses,  black 
filmy  clouds  that  drove  hurriedly  across  the  sky,  as  if 


FROM  NORM  AND  Y  AND  BRITTANY.  1 1 3 

they  actually  feared  the  hoarse  voice  of  the  ever-rising 
wind.  It  was  not  late,  but  darkness  had  come  with  a 
suddenness  unknown  in  England.  All  at  once  the 
howling  of  the  wind  lulled,  and  then  a  shrieking  wail 
burst  over  the  waste. 

Silvestik  stood  still  and  crossed  himself,  and  then 
looked  fearfully  about.  Just  in  front  of  him  an  opening 
came  in  the  road,  and  a  narrow  way  went  steeply  down 
between  two  high  banks.  All  around  him  were  the 
pagan  stones,  some  of  which,  so  tradition  said,  sheltered 
dwarfs  and  korrigans,  while  some  of  the  taller  ones  had 
been  known  to  walk  and  to  crush  unwary  travellers  who 
met  them  on  their  way. 

"  It  was  only  the  wind,"  he  thought,  as  he  stood  at 
the  opening  of  the  steep  narrow  path. 

All  at  once  he  remembered  that  it  was  down  such 
a  steep  uncanny  bit  of  road  as  this,  only  nearer  home, 
that  Ursule  lived  ;  and  the  words  of  old  rheumatic  Barba, 
and  his  dream  of  last  night,  came  back — came  back  so 
vividly,  that  it  seemed  as  if  a  voice  from  among  those 
dark  weird  stones  were  whispering  in  his  ear,  "  Go  to 
Ursule."  Should  he  go  ?  Could  she  teach  him  how 
to  win  Annik  ? 

He  went  musing  along  the  high  road,  difficult  to  keep 
to  now  that  waste  land  spread  along  each  side  of  the 


114  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

way.  Once  he  went  plunging  into  the  midst  of  this  waste 
among  the  furze  and  stones  ;  and  then  a  cross,  placed 
at  the  angle  of  a  by-road,  caught  his  eye,  and  recalled 
him  from  his  wandering.  He  took  off  his  hat  rever- 
ently, and  the  misty  dreams  that  had  been  confusing 
him  dispersed  for  a  while. 

"  Ursule  is  a  witch,"  he  said.  "  No,  I  will  not  seek 
her,  I  will  speak  for  myself."  But  as  he  drew  nearer 
and  nearer  to  Ke>ion,  his  courage  failed  ;  Annik  had 
never  said  or  done  anything  in  the  way  of  personal  en- 
couragement. He  could  not  approach  her  in  regular 
fashion,  through  the  crooked  tailor  of  the  village — whose 
business  lay  more  in  the  making  of  marriages  than  in 
the  making  of  clothes — for  this  tailor  was  a  known 
friend  of  Guerik's,  and  would  certainly  speak  to  the 
uncle  before  speaking  to  the  niece,  and  thus  Silvestik's 
suit  would  remain  untold. 

"If  I  had  only  a  mother!"  the  poor  fellow  sighed. 
He  had  been  an  orphan  ever  since  he  could  remember ; 
owing  all  his  teaching  to  Father  Pierre  ;  and  helped  on 
first  by  one  cousin,  then  by  another,  but  knowing  no 
home  except  the  houses  of  the  farmers  with  whom  he 
had  taken  service 

Here  was  Kerion  at  last.  He  passed  the  low 
cottage  where  Annik  had  talked  to  the  cat.  and  where 


FROM  NORM  AND  Y  AND  BRITTANY.  1 1 5 

old  Barba  had  given  her  counsel,  and  speeding  swiftly 
up  the  hill  with  long,  strong  strides,  he  came  in  sight 
of  the  farm-house,  a  dull  red  glow  through  the  window 
beside  the  door  making  it  visible  at  some  distance. 
Silvestik  stood  still  and  gazed  as  a  lover  does  gaze  on 
the  nest  that  holds  his  beloved.  Then  his  eyes  went  to 
the  upper  story. 

"  Annik  is  still  below,"  he  thought ;  "  there  is  no  light 
up-stairs." 

Between  him  and  the  house,  obscuring  the  red  light 
in  the  window,  came  two  dark  figures,  and  passed  in 
under  the  low  stone  arch  of  the  doorway.  The  door 
was  shut-to,  and  in  a  minute  the  dull  red  brightened, 
and  the  window  was  ablaze  with  light.  A  curse  rose  to 
Silvestik's  lips  ;  all  his  pure  simple  worship  of  Annik 
was  dimmed  by  a  cloud  of  furious  jealousy.  He  had 
seen  Guerik  taking  Lao  Coatfrec  to  his  hearth-stone  to 
woo  Annik. 

"  I  was  a  fool  not  to  guess  it  yesterday.  I  might 
have  spoken  then,  and  so  have  had  her  answer  before 
Lao  had  time  to  court  her  with  his  false  words.  He  is 
a  thief,  and  therefore  he  must  be  a  liar — curse  him  !" 

He  plunged  his  hands  into  his  hair  ;  he  stood  gazing 
wildly  at  the  house,  while  one  mad  thought  and  then 
ar  other  wrecked  all  self-control.  Then,  with  a  sudden 


n6  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

impulse,  he  went  fast  up  the  hill,  on  along  the  road  for 
some  distance,  till  he  paused  at  a  cross-road — just  such 
a  narrow  sunken  turning,  between  two  lofty  banks,  as 
that  where  he  had  heard  the  wind  shriek  over  the  stone- 
strewn  waste  near  Nizon. 

"  I  will  see  Ursule,  and  ask  her  help,"  he  said  ; 
"  right  ways  are  useless  against  knaves  and  plotters — 
they  must  be  met  in  their  own  way :  who  can  say  how 
those  two  may  deceive  Annik  ?  I  must  take  any  means 
to  win  her." 

But  even  then  his  conscience  misgave  him,  and  to 
quiet  its  pricks  he  plunged  recklessly  down  the  hollow 
way. 

Down,  down,  it  led  him,  through  wet  and  mire  and 
bramble-tangled  paths  on  to  a  vast  waste.  Here  it  was 
not  so  dark  as  in  the  narrow  way,  and  the  monotonous 
distant  moaning  told  that  the  sea  was  not  far  off.  There 
was  light  enough  to  show  pools  of  water,  and  in  the 
midst  of  these  was  a  cluster  of  huge  stones,  like  a  long 
low  hut.  At  sight  of  this  Silvestik  stopped,  and  his 
heart  beat  violently.  He  tried  mechanically  to  cross 
himself,  but  his  fingers  felt  stiff  and  glued  together. 
A  cold  dew  spread  over  his  forehead,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  the  hairs  lifted  themselves  and  stood  upright 
on  his  head.  He  had  never  visited  this  gloomy  waste 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  117 

since  he  was  a  child  ;  but  he  had  been  told  that  the  hag 
Ursule,  shunned  and  feared  by  all,  lived  in  a  ruined 
Dolmen  at  the  end  of  the  narrow  road  he  had  descended. 
This,  then,  must  be  her  abode. 

Silvestik  was  brave  :  he  had  rescued  three  men  from 
drowning  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life  ;  he  was  an  ex- 
cellent wrestler,  and  never  shrank  from  any  amount  of 
bodily  fatigue  or  pain  ;  but  he  shook  with  actual  fear 
at  the  thought  of  intruding  on  Mother  Ursule. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHAT    THE    WITCH    SAID. 

WHILE  Silvestik  stood  undecided  and  unnerved  some- 
thing touched  him,  and  then,  rubbing  itself  against  his 
legs,  the  creature  purred.     The  familiar  sound  revived 
him,  and  he  felt  himself  again,  when  a  lantern  came  out 
of  the  group  of  stones,  and  a  deep  voice  said. 
"  Tartare  !  Tartare  !  come  home  ;  it  is  time." 
The  cat  left  off  rubbing  against  Silvestik,  and  moved 
towards  the  lantern  :   the  youth  followed  the  animal, 
striving  to  keep  down  fear. 

"  Who  art  thou  ?"      He  had  not  nearly  reached  the 
light  when  this  question  was  sternly  asked. 


Ii8  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  I  am  Silvestik  Kergroes,"  he  said  quickly ;  "  I 
come  to  consult  you,  Mother  Ursule." 

"  Come  in,  my  son,  come  in  " — the  voice  had  a 
softened,  almost  a  fawning  sound  in  it — "  let  us  see  how 
a  poor  old  woman  can  help  the  rich  miller  of  Nizon." 

Siivestik  started.  It  was  only  the  day  before  yester- 
day that  he  had  learned  his  cousin's  kind  intentions  ; 
how  could  the  news  have  already  reached  Ursule,  who 
rarely  went  into  Kerion  ? 

"  I  rich !  No,  no,  mother,"  he  laughed,  as  he 
followed  her,  rejoiced  to  find  that  she  was,  after  all,  an 
ordinary  old  woman  ;  "  I  never  expect  to  be  rich." 

He  followed  her  through  an  opening  in  the  dolmen  ; 
then  he  paused  and  looked  round. 

Ursule  was  holding  up  the  lantern,  and  he  saw  that 
he  was  in  a  sort  of  stone  vault,  surrounded  by  upright 
blocks  of  granite.  In  the  midst  was  a  huge  stone  table, 
grooved  in  the  centre,  and  in  one  corner,  between  two 
lower  stones,  was  a  dull  smouldering  fire.  As  he  looked 
round  to  the  door  by  which  he  had  entered,  he  started 
violently.  In  the  darkness  above  the  entrance  were  two 
yellow  eyes  glaring  at  him. 

"Come  down,  Tartare!"  Ursule  said  querulously. 
"  Now,  Miller,  shall  I  tell  thee  what  thou  hast  come  to 
seek  ?" 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  119 

Silvestik  stared  at  her  in  wonder  ;  while  the  cat 
sprang  down  from  its  post  of  observation,  and  nestled 
on  Ursule's  shoulder. 

She  was  very  witch-like  as  she  stood,  the  yellow 
light  from  the  lantern  falling  on  her  skinny  cheeks  and 
narrow  spiteful  eyes.  Her  face  was  darker  than  Nature 
had  mide  it,  from  an  incrustation  of  dirt,  and  tangled 
grizzled  hair  fell  over  it  from  beneath  an  old  rusty 
black  hood. 

"  I  am  not  yet  the  miller  of  Nizon,  mother ;  my 
cousin  is  better  and  may  recover — who  knows  ?' 

She  shook  her  fingers  in  his  face,  thereby  displaying 
how  long-nailed  and  crooked  they  were.  Silvestik  drew 
back  with  a  start.  He  felt  as  if  those  brown  claws 
could  hook  out  his  eyes  as  easily  as  the  yellow-eyed 
cat  on  Ursule's  shoulder  could  tear  out  the  heart  of  a 
bird. 

" '  Who  knows,'  "  she  laughed.  "  You  are  come,  then, 
to  teach,  and  not  to  question,  young  man  ?" 

"  I  am  come  for  advice,  mother  ;  but  I  have  no 
money  to  return  for  it."  He  watched  her  face  eagerly, 
but  in  the  dim  light  he  saw  no  change  from  the  keen 
gaze  she  had  kept  on  him  since  he  entered  her  den. 
Then  he  unbuckled  his  broad  buff  leather  belt,  and  threw 
it  on  the  table  between  them,  the  metal  clasp  ringing 


120  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

on  the  stone  as  it  fell.  "  I  can  offer  this,"  he  said 
timidly. 

Ursule  laughed. 

"What  else?"  She  fingered  the  belt,  pushing  out 
her  lower  lip  contemptuously  when  she  saw  how  plain 
the  clasp  was. 

Silvestik  looked  puzzled.  He  took  off  his  hat  and 
rubbed  his  forehead  with  his  orange  cotton  handkerchief. 
"  I  forgot  this,"  he  said,  and  he  began  to  undo  the  metal 
buckle  that  fastened  a  broad  black  velvet  round  the 
t:rown  of  his  hat. 

"  Keep  your  rubbish,  boy,  and  be  speedy,"  Ursule 
said  fiercely.  She  flung  the  belt  into  one  of  the  dark 
corners  of  the  den.  "  Say  out  at  once  what  you 
want." 

Silvestik's  faith  in  the  witch's  power  was  shaken  by 
her  contempt  of  his  poverty.  How  foolish  he  had  been 
to  come  empty-handed  !  and  yet,  unless  he  borrowed 
money  of  his  cousin,  he  did  not  know  how  he  could  get 
any  sum  sufficient  to  offer  to  the  old  witch. 

"  Come,  be  quick,  loiterer !  say  what  you  want," 
she  said  hoarsely.  She  saw  that  he  hesitated,  and  she 
was  unwilling  to  lose  a  fresh  dupe. 

"  I  want  " — he  stammered — "  that  is,  how  can  a 
young  man  who  is  poor — approach  a " 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  121 

He  stopped.  His  downcast  eyes  and  the  flush  on 
his  honest  face  told  his  secret. 

"  Silvestik  Kergroes  asks  "-— Ursule  spoke  mock- 
ingly to  the  cat  on  her  shoulder — "  how  he  is  to  win  a 
rich  Pennherez,1  and  what  steps  he  is  to  take  to  get  her 
for  his  wife  ?" 

Silvestik's  eyes  opened  widely,  and  so  did  his  mouth  ; 
his  surprise  was  unbounded. 

'•  Well,  mother,"  he  said  simply, "  if  I  had  not  believed 
in  you  before,  I  believe  in  you  now  ;  you  know  wishes 
before  they  are  spoken." 

"  He  is  a  young  fool,  Tartare  !"  She  had  turned 
her  face  round  to  the  cat,  showing  a  hideous  wrinkled 
throat  in  the  action.  "  He  forgets,  Tartare,  that  before 
a  man  hints  his  love  he  must  make  sure  that  a  girl  will 
listen  with  patience,  at  least." 

"  Yes,  yes,  mother,  I  know  she  would  listen  with 
patience,"  he  said  eagerly.  "  Annik  is  sweet  and  gentle, 
but  I  want  to  know  what  her  answer  will  be.  Only  a 
hope  that  she  loves  could  encourage  me  to  ask  her,  and 
as  she  is  rich  and  I  am  poor"- 

"  Rich  !   ta,  ta  !   he  calls  a  few  hundred  francs  riches, 
Tartare.      Annik,  indeed  !  it  is  well  Silvestik  sought  our 
advice.      Annik " — she   stood    thinking,  while   the  cat 
nestled  its  head  against  her  face  and  purred  loudly. 
1  Pennherez  is  Breton  for  heiress. 


122  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  Boy  !  she  turned  suddenly  to  Silvestik — "  you  have 
no  chance  with  Annik  ;  give  her  up,  and  choose  some 
one  who  is  less  sure  of  lovers." 

"  I  will  not  give  her  up,"  Silvestik  said  stoutly  ;  "  if 
you  cannot  help  me,  I  will  find  out  by  myself  whether 
she  will  be  my  wife." 

He  turned  to  go,  for  he  was  provoked  by  Ursule's 
mockery. 

She  bent  forward  and  caught  at  his  sleeve  :  her  eyes 
gleamed  with  anger. 

"  Listen,  fool !  since  you  will  not  take  a  friendly 
warning  ;  listen,  and  be  sure  you  do  as  I  tell  you.  You 
shall  try  the  spell.  I  know  Annik  ;  and  if  you  will 
succeed  with  her,  you  must  not  give  a  word  or  a  look 
of  love  till  you  have  tried  the  spell — not  even  if  you  see 
others  wooing  her.' 

"The  spell!" — Thoughts  of  Father  Pierre,  of  the 
warnings  he  had  often  spoken  against  belief  in  the  pagan 
traditions  that  haunt  the  lands  and  stones  of  the  country, 
came  back,  and  made  Silvestik  hesitate. 

Ursule  read  his  face  easily. 

"  Go  your  ways,  fool,  and  never  intrude  here  again  ! 
I  tell  you  the  man  who  approaches  Annik  without 
having  first  tried  whether  he  can  master  her  love, 
loses  her  for  ever.  Only  by  the  spell  can  he  learn 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  123 

his  fate,  and  if  the  spell  says  Yes,  it  binds  her  also  to 
be  his." 

"Well,"  he  said  crossly,  "what  is  the  spell?" 

"  Before  I  tell  you,  you  must  swear  to  do  as  I  bid 
you — swear  on  the  head  of  Tartare," 

And  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed,  with  a  strange  con- 
straining power,  on  Silvestik. 

As  if  the  cat  understood  her  mistress's  words,  it 
leaped  down  on  to  the  stone,  and  sat  there,  upright  and 
with  closed  eyes,  like  a  black  idol. 

Ursule  stretched  out  her  lean  fingers  for  Silvestik's 
hand,  and  placed  it  on  the  cat's  head.  "  Say  my  words," 
she  whispered.  She  paused  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
youth,  who  repeated  her  words  like  a  parrot. 

"  I,  Silvestik  Kergroes,"  she  said,  "  swear  by  the 
soul  of  my  mother,  and  by  my  own  salvation  " 

At  the  word  "  salvation  "  Silvestik  hesitated,  but  the 
witch  grasped  his  arm  warningly,  and  he  went  on — 

"  That  I  will,  on  the  night  of  Saturday,  go  alone, 
without  telling  my  purpose  to  a  living  soul,  to  the 
Rocking-Stone  of  Tregunc.  There  I  will  strive  three 
times  to  move  the  stone  by  gentle  pushes  of  my  body 
and  hands.  If  it  remains  firm,  I  may  ask  Annik  with 
sure  hope  ;  but  if  it  rocks  ever  so  little,  her  love  is  not 
fcr  me  :  it  has  been  given  to  more  than  one  before  me." 


124  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

As  Silvestik  repeated  the  last  words,  the  cat  opened 
its  great  yellow  eyes,  and  leaped  back  to  its  resting-place 
on  Ursule's  shoulder. 

Ursule  took  something  from  a  pocket  in  her  apron, 
and  strewed  it  on  the  stone  table  ;  then  she  struck 
sparks  over  it  with  flint  and  steel.  A  sudden  light 
flared  out  and  lit  up  the  den  with  a  lurid  glare,  in  which 
the  old  woman  looked  like  an  animated  corpse. 

She  caught  hold  of  Silvestik's  hand,  and  held  it 
over  the  flame. 

"  Swear  to  do  this,"  she  said  hoarsely. 

"  I  have  sworn  already."  Silvestik  felt  sullen  and 
ashamed  ;  he  shivered  too,  for  he  believed  in  the  witch, 
spite  of  himself. 

"  But,  mother,  Pierre  Mao  did  all  this,"  he  said,  "  and 
a  week  after  his  corpse  was  washed  up  by  the  waves  on 
the  rocks  beyond  the  Stone  of  Tregunc." 

Ursule  did  not  answer  for  some  moments. 

"  Silvestik,"  she  said,  as  the  flames  died  out,  and 
left  them  in  semi-darkness,  "  that  poor  fool,  Pierre,  dis- 
obeyed my  commands,  and  so  he  perished  ;  if  you  speak 
to  Annik  in  the  interval,  the  spell  is  broken,  and  the 
stone  will  not  speak  truly,  nor  can  I  say  what  may  befall 
you  ;  but  keep  your  tongue  quiet,  and  all  will  be  well  ; 
go  on  Saturday,  when  the  light  has  faded  out  of  the  sky 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  125 

— go  alone,  remember  :    if  the  stone  does  not  rock,  it 
will  hold  the  maiden's  heart  fast  to  yours  for  ever." 


CHAPTER  V. 
LAO'S  WOOING. 

"  I  WISH  the  good  father  would  come  back,"  thought 
Annik.  "  No  one  else  can  tell  me  what  to  do." 

She  was  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  tall  gray  calvary, 
beside  the  church,  not  far  from  the  farm-house  ;  but  the 
large  spreading  chestnut  boughs  in  front  of  this 
screened  her  effectually.  She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands, 
though  there  was  no  one  by  to  see  the  warm  blood  rush 
up  to  her  face. 

She  was  struggling  with  a  keen  dislike  to  leave 
Kerion. 

This  morning,  Mathurin  had  spoken  sternly  to  her. 
He  said  he  was  tired  of  having  her  at  the  farm  ;  he 
meant  to  arrange  a  marriage  for  her  without  delay. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  marry,"  the  girl  said  angrily  :  and 
then  she  blushed  at  her  words,  and  came  out  to  sit 
under  the  calvary. 

Since  the  Cure's  departure,  Lao  Coatfrec  had  come 
every  day  to  the  farm-house,  and  Annik  wondered 
whether  he  was  the  proposed  suitor. 


126  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

11  No  one  shall  choose  my  husband,"  she  said  saucily. 

Old  Barba  had  often  warned  Annik  that  her  money 
was  not  safe  with  Mathurin,  but  when  the  girl  had 
consulted  her  only  friend,  the  Cure,  he  bid  her  be 
patient  •* 

"  You  cannot  go  out  into  the  world  alone,  my  child, 
and  you  do  not  wish  to  enter  a  convent ;  you  have  no 
relatives,  and  a  home  you  must  have  ;  be  patient,  then, 
and  trust  in  God." 

"  I  wonder  what  Monsieur  le  Curd  will  say  now  ?  I 
cannot  stay  here,  and  yet  it  would  be  easier  for  a  poor 
girl  to  find  a  home  than  for  me." 

Annik  sat  now  with  hands  disconsolately  clasped 
in  her  lap. 

All  at  once  a  shadow  came  between  her  and  the 
light :  she  looked  up  and  saw  Lao  Coatfrec. 

"Good  morning,  pretty  Annik,"  he  said  ;  and  then, 
without  waiting  for  her  answer,  he  seated  himself  also  on 
the  steps  of  the  calvary. 

Annik  reddened  this  time  with  vexation.  If  Sil- 
vestik  or  any  other  Kerion  lads  spoke  to  her,  they 
addressed  her  as  Mademoiselle.  She  thought  Lao's 
manner  impertinent 

She  looked  rather  haughty,  but  the  beseeching 
admiration  in  his  eyes  soothed  her.  "After  all,"  she 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  127 

thought,  "the  poor  fellow  can't  help  liking  me.  I  need 
not  be  cross." 

"  Did  you  always  live  at  Auray  before  you  came  to 
K6rion  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  Annik  sighed,  "  my  mother  and  my  aunt 
and  I  all  lived  beside  the  Loch  at  Auray.  When  my 
mother  died,  my  aunt  married  Mathurin  Gue"rik,  and 
we  came  to  Kerion." 

"You  must  find  this  a  poor  dull  place  after  Auray," 
said  Lao;  "and  a  pretty  maid  like  you  would  take 
pleasure  in  a  more  lively  town  even  than  Auray,  I  fancy. 
What  say  you  to  Brest  ?" 

Annik  looked  up  quickly ;  she  was  so  preoccupied 
with  her  own  plans  for  leaving  Kerion,  that  she  failed  to 
understand  Lao's  drift. 

"  Brest  is  so  far  off,  and  it  always  seems  to  me  that 
people  must  lose  their  way  in  a  great  city." 

Lao  laughed  gaily. 

"  My  dear  little  country  mouse,"  he  said,  "  Brest 
could  be  put  in  a  corner  of  Paris,  or  even  of  Nantes  ; 
but,  small  as  it  is,  it  is  full  of  life ;  it  is  the  sailor's 
home,  and  you  need  never  lose  your  way  when  you  have 
a  strong  arm  ready  to  protect  you." 

He  looked  meaningly  into  her  eyes,  and  drew  close 
beside  her.  But  the  familiarity  of  his  tone  had  startled 


128  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

Annik,  and  when  she  met  his  eyes  anger  rose  quickly  in 
her  own. 

She  looked  away,  and  saw  some  one  coming  up 
from  the  fountain  beyond  the  church.  It  was  Silvestik, 
bearing  a  large  water  pitcher  ;  behind  him  hobbled  a 
bent  old  man,  for  whom  he  was  carrying  it. 

Annik  nodded  to  both  of  them. 

"Good  day,  Jean  Marie;  good-day,  Silvestik,"  she 
said  ;  "what  news  of  your  cousin  ?" 

She  felt  sure  that  this  advance  on  her  part  would 

.cause  the  youth  to  set  down  his  pitcher  and  enter  into 

talk,  thus  releasing  her  from  her  unwelcome  tete-h-tete ; 

but,  to  her  surprise,  Silvestik  only  bent  his  head  very 

slightly,  and  passed  on,  leaving  her  alone  with  Lao. 

She  could  hardly  keep  from  crying.  Ever  since  it 
had  been  said  that  Silvestik  would  soon  leave  Kerion, 
Annik  had  felt  troubled  and  restless.  He  was  her 
favourite  among  the  youths  of  the  village  ;  he  was  so 
respectful,  yet  so  anxious  to  please  her ;  he  was  good- 
looking,  and,  above  all,  he  was  liked  by  the  good  Cure. 
But  she  was  very  angry  with  him  now  ;  he  had  looked 
so  sheepish,  and  it  was  clownish  and  ill-mannered  to 
pass  on  without  a  word. 

The  colour  rose  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  pouted  to 
herself,  "  I  have  been  very  silly  to  waste  a  thought  on 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  129 

Silvestik,  he  is  a  foolish  fellow."  She  turned  to  Lao 
with  a  smile. 

"I  think," — she  spoke  as  if  no  interruption  had 
come  to  their  talk,  though  she  was  pinching  the  tips  of 
her  ringers  to  keep  down  vexation — "  I  should  like  to 
see  a  great  city  just  for  once.  I  want  to  see  great 
churches  and  fine  shops  ;  but  to  live  in  a  city,  oh,  no ! 
I  should  feel  like  a  bird  in  a  cage." 

"  No  one  could  ever  cage  you,"  he  said  softly  ;  "  you 
have  a  spirit,  I  can  see  that,  and  you  will  always  be  a 
free  bird  ;  you  will  always  be  obeyed." 

The  flattery  of  his  tone  was  soothing,  but  his  bold 
admiring  gaze  made  her  eyes  droop. 

"Women  have  to  obey,"  said  Annik,  laughing,  and 
she  rose  up,  thinking  she  had  sat  there  long  enough 
with  Lao. 

"Yes,  yes,  my  sweet  one  ;  but  you  would  not  care  to 
obey  a  mate  like  yon  poor  frightened  fool."  He  pointed 
after  Silvestik.  "My  faith,  a  maid  will  have  to  ask 
that  lad  to  wed  ;  he  is  too  much  a  coward  to  go  a- 
wooing." 

He  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  Annik  reddened  and 
felt  guilty  ;  she  had  known  Silvestik  much  longer  than 
she  had  known  this  new  acquaintance  ;  why  should  she 
join  in  ridiculing  her  old  friend  ?  And  yet  she  felt  sore 

K 


130  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

and  angry  with  Silvestik  for  his  avoidance,  and  it  was 
soothing  to  feel  that  Lao  liked  to  talk  to  her. 

"  Well,  I  must  go  home.  Jeff  will  be  wanting  me. 
Good  day,  Monsieur  Coatfrec  ;  perhaps  some  day  I  may 
go  to  Brest." 

She  nodded  gaily. 

She  looked  very  charming  as  she  ran  away  under 
the  spreading  chestnut  trees.  Lao  watched  her  till  she 
disappeared  through  the  round-headed  doorway  of  the 
farm-house,  and  then  he  swore  aloud — 

"  I  will  have  that  little  girl :  she  pleases  me.  But  I 
have  learned  something  sitting  here  this  morning,  and 
watching  her  tell-tale  cheeks.  Guerik  is  a  fool ;  he  does 
not  see  that  she  can  be  humoured  into  anything  through 
her  vanity ;  but  she  won't  stand  driving.  She  has  a 
temper  ;  what  a  rage  she  got  in  when  that  dolt  Kergroes 
passed  her  by  without  speaking.  I  thought  the  lout  cared 
for  her  ;  I  see  I  was  mistaken.  Well,  I  must  go  and  report 
progress  to  my  grandam  ;  I  have  not  seen  her  lately." 

CHAPTER  VI. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  TO  SILVESTIK. 

THE  stormy  night  had  finally  brought  a  heavy  rain-fall, 
and  by  Saturday  the  road  leading  to  Concarneau  was  a 


FROM  NORM  A  ND  Y  A  ND  BRITTA  NY.  131 

succession  of  muddy  pools.  Kerion  lay  on  the  waste, 
some  way  from  the  high-road  itself;  yet,  even  when 
this  was  reached,  the  deep  cart-ruts  filled  with  water 
looked  like  continuous  miniature  canals,  and,  as  evening 
fell,  walking  in  the  obscure  light  was  both  difficult  and 
dangerous  to  the  ankles  of  the  wayfarer. 

On  each  side  was  a  dreary  moor,  covered  with  heather, 
so  that  there  was  no  obstacle  to  hinder  the  light  and 
increase  the  fast-spreading  gloom. 

Silvestik  had  left  Kerion  earlier  than  he  intended, 
but  he  hurried  along  the  rough  road,  reckless  of  its  perils 
to  unwary  walkers.  He  felt  despair  hanging  like  lead 
at  his  heart.  That  morning  he  had  again  seen  Lao 
talking  to  Annik,  and  he  thought  that  the  girl  looked 
lovingly  at  her  companion.  For  a  moment  Silvestik  felt 
that  he  must  interfere  ;  that  he  must  tell  her  how  un- 
worthy Lao  was  of  her  regard  ;  but  he  remembered  the 
witch's  warning ;  indeed,  Annik  gave  him  no  chance  of 
speaking  ;  at  his  approach  she  turned  away. 

Now  as  he  stumbled  on  along  the  rugged  miry  road, 
he  asked  himself  if  he  was  not  a  fool  to  go  on  acting 
blindly  by  the  advice  of  Ursule.  Only  yesterday  he  had 
learned  the  connection  between  the  witch  and  Lao 
Coatfrec. 

"And  yet,"  he  thought,  "that  could  not  influence 


132  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

Ursula's  advice.  Lao  does  not  want  Annik  ;  he  is  too 
bold  and  free-living  to  care  to  be  cumbered  with  a  wife  ; 
he  is  only  amusing  himself  with  her." 

Ah,  if  he  had  only  awaited  the  Curb's  return,  instead 
of  consulting  Ursule,  Father  Pierre  would  have  told 
Annik  the  true  character  of  the  man,  who  was  only 
flattering  her,  and  trying  to  destroy  her  peace  ;  but 
with  the  remembrance  of  the  Cure  came  also  a  vivid 
remembrance  of  warnings  he  had  uttered  against  pagan 
superstitions,  and  specially  against  the  spells  used  by 
Ursule. 

Silvestik  stopped  and  hung  his  head  with  shame. 
Was  he  not  bound  on  a  godless  errand  ?  Should  he  turn 
back  ? 

He  set  his  teeth  hard. 

"  No,  I  cannot  lose  her.  .  I  will  try  the  spell.  If  the 
stone  remains  firm,  Annik  is  mine ;  and  till  Lao  came 
there  was  a  look  in  her  eyes  when  she  talked  with  me, 
which  at  least  was  liking." 

He  went  on  still  faster,  and  just  as  the  light  grew 
very  dim  he  came  in  sight  of  the  enormous  block  of 
granite  which  goes  by  the  name  of  the  Rocking-Stone 
of  Tregunc. 

Silvestik  stepped  off  the  road,  and  went  up  to  the 
stone.  There  was  still  light  enough  to  show  that  the 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY,  133 

huge  mass  rested  solely  on  a  projecting  angle  placed  on 
another  block  deeply  sunk  in  the  earth. 

Silvestik  looked  at  the  Rocking-Stone,  and  then  he 
tried  to  remember  the  witch's  words.  He  felt  a  strone 

o 

reluctance  to  touch  the  stone,  which  in  the  gloom  looked 
like  a  dark  formless  monster ;  but  at  the  thought  of 
Annik  his  resolution  came  back.  Placing  his  hands 
about  midway  on  the  stone,  he  tried  to  move  it.  He 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  uproot  a  Menhir.  He  paused 
in  his  effort,  and  then  tried  again,  but  this  time,  though 
he  set  his  shoulder  to  help  his  hands,  the  massive  block 
of  stone  kept  firm. 

His  hopes  rose  wildly.  "  She  is  mine  ;  she  is  good 
and  true,  my  sweet  Annik  ;  I  was  a  fool  to  doubt  her : 
to-morrow  I  will  hear  from  her  own  lips  that  she  loves  me." 

He  did  not  feel  inclined  to  make  the  third  trial,  when 
suddenly  he  heard  the  purring  of  a  cat.  He  started,  and 
looked  round.  The  purring  came  from  across  the  road, 
and  as  he  looked  his  hair  seemed  to  lift  itself  on  his 
forehead.  He  saw  two  yellow  balls  of  flame,  which  he 
guessed  were  Tartare's  eyes. 

He  was  being  watched,  then  ;  who  could  tell  by  what 
evil  beings  ?  and  if  he  failed  in  obedience  he  might  be 
torn  to  pieces. 

"  And  I  am  in  their  power,  for  I  have  sought  their 


134  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

help."  He  turned  angrily  to  the  stone.  This  time  he 
only  pushed  it  slightly,  and  to  his  dismay  he  felt  it  yield 
under  his  fingers,  and,  as  they  still  touched  it,  it  con- 
tinued to  rock  for  some  seconds. 

Silvestik  gave  a  wild  cry  of  despair,  and  rushed  on 
across  the  road,  heedless  how  he  went,  in  the  direction 
of  Tartare's  eyes.  He  felt  a  stunning  blow,  and  then  he 
fell  senseless  beside  a  huge  mass  of  granite. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHAT   ANNIK  HEARD  IN   HER   BEDROOM. 

ANNIK  had  been  unhappy  all  day.  She  had  slighted 
Silvestik,  and  she  had  allowed  Lao  to  speak  to  her  too 
freely,  and  this  evening  he  had  come  in  to  see  Guerik, 
and  had  again  spoken  familiarly  to  her,  as  if  there  were 
an  understanding  between  them.  And  when  she  looked 
scornful  and  angry,  the  farmer  patted  Lao's  shoulder 
and  encouraged  him  to  go  on. 

"  It  is  the  way  with  women,  friend  Coatfrec,"  he  said, 
winking  at  him  ;  "  they  always  say  No  when  they  mean 
Yes." 

At  this  Annik  flamed  into  indignant  words,  and 
running  up  the  staircase  ladder  to  her  little  room,  she 


PROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  135 

drew  the  bolt  across  the  door,  resolved  not  to  go  down 
till  Lao  had  taken  his  departure. 

She  sat  half-an-hour  in  the  darkness  thinking  of 
Silvestik,  and  puzzling  over  his  strange  behaviour. 
From  below  came  the  sound  of  men's  voices,  broken  by 
the  flapping  of  the  chestnut  leaves  against  her  window. 
She  began  to  feel  tired  of  waiting.  Lao  was  still  talking 
to  her  uncle.  She  had  no  candle,  and  through  the  wide 
chinks  in  the  rough  flooring  of  her  room  the  red  fire-light 
peeped  in  lines  here  and  there. 

"  I  am  tired,"  Annik  thought,  "  I  shall  not  go  down 
again  to-night,"  and  she  began  to  prepare  for  bed. 

The  large  silver-headed  pin  which  fastened  her 
bodice  slipped  from  her  fingers  and  fell  on  the  floor,  and 
she  stooped  hurriedly,  lest  it  should  roll  through  one  of 
the  crevices.  She  felt  for  it  in  the  darkness,  and  as  she 
found  it,  a  flush  of  joy  glowed  on  her  cheeks.  Silvestik 
had  given  it  her  as  a  fairing  last  year  when  she  had 
danced  with  him  at  the  Pardon  of  Pont-Aven.  But  the 
glow  faded  quickly  into  a  trembling  chill  of  fear,  and 
instead  of  rising  from  her  knees,  Annik  lay  down  on  the 
boards,  placing  her  ear  on  one  of  the  larger  crevices 
marked  by  the  line  of  red  light  that  glowed  up  from  the 
room  beneath.  She  had  heard  her  name  spoken  by  Lao, 
coupled  with  the  word  "  wife." 


136  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  Trust  me,"  Guerik  said  in  answer,  "  Annik  shall  be 
your  wife  in  a  week." 

"  Why  not  sooner  ?  I  can  ill  spare  a  week  ;  my 
mates  will  be  getting  unruly,  and  I  should  have  liked  a 
day  or  so  with  the  little  one  in  Brest  before  I  go  off  again. 
Why  cannot  I  wed  Annik  on  Monday  ?" 

GueVik  laughed.  "  You  are  a  fine  fellow  to  lecture 
me  about  dealing  gently  by  the  girl,  and  then  to  want 
to  marry  her  out  of  hand  without  any  approaches." 

"  Leave  me  alone,  my  friend ;  I  know  the  sex."  Lao's 
laugh  made  the  girl  shiver  as  she  lay  listening.  "  I  told 
you  that  three  days  ago.  Meantime  Annik  and  I  have 
not  kept  apart ;  and  " — the  speaker  paused,  as  if  he 
looked  round  to  secure  himself  against  a  listener  ;  he 
went  on  in  a  lower  voice — "  I  have  learned  something 
else.  Mark  you,  this  is  between  ourselves — that  young 
fool  Kergroes,  with  all  his  sheepishness,  is  mad  with  love 
for  Annik.  He  has  sold  his  soul  to  my  grandmother 
for  a  spell  to  charm  the  girl's  love." 

"And  are  you  fool  enough  to  believe  such  old 
women's  tales,  Lao  ?  I  should  have  thought  even 
Silvestik  had  more  sense.  What  may  this  spell  be  ?" 

Trembling  in  every  limb,  Annik  lay  straining  her 
ear  to  catch  the  answer. 

*'  Ursule  has  sent  him  to-night  to  the  Rocking-Stone. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  137 

She  tells  me  the  spell  will  fail,  but  that  its  power  will 
drive  Silvestik  distracted,  and  that  probably  he  will  rush 
on  to  the  sea,  and  be  carried  off  by  the  waves,  as  that  poor 
fool  Pierre  was  carried  some  years  ago,  for  Ursule  has 
fixed  the  time  for  trying  the  spell  at  the  turn  of  the  tide. 
This  must  not  come  to  Annik's  ears.  A  woman,  however 
pretty,  is  such  a  fool,  that  if  she  hears  of  a  man  running  a 
risk  for  love  of  her,  she  loves  him  at  once,  and,  who  can 
say,  perhaps  gives  herself  up  to  his  memory.  Silvestik 
will  not  be  missed  for  a  week  or  so  ;  folks  will  think  he 
is  at  Nizon.  It  is  a  good  plan — aha  !  my  grandmother 
is  a  clever  woman." 

Annik  lay  as  if  spell-bound  ;  her  senses  seemed  to 
be  going  ;  but  just  then  a  bough  struck  the  window,  and 
she  roused. 

"There  is  yet  another  question."  Annik's  heart 
throbbed  so  painfully  that  she  could  scarcely  bear  to 
listen,  and  yet  she  must  hear  all — she  feared  to  lose  a 
syllable  of  her  uncle's  answer.  "  Suppose  Silvestik  comes 
back  safe  and  sound  ?"  There  was  a  sneer  in  Guerik's 
voice. 

Lao  swore  a  frightful  oath,  and  the  girl  heard  him 
rise  violently  from  his  seat  and  stamp  on  the  clay  floor. 

"  He  will  not ;  he  is  too  great  a  fool.  Ursule  swore 
t-o  him  that  if  the  spell  failed,  he  had  no  chance  with 


138  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

Annik,  and  weak  lads  such  as  he  is  have  no  courage  to 
persevere.  He  will  never  come  back  to  Kerion." 

"  Do  not  you  be  too  sure  of  that,  Lao  Coatfrec  ;  while 
there  is  life  there  is  hope.  For  an  hour  or  so  the  lad 
may  give  way  to  despair,  but  after  that  he  will  say  to 
himself  that  he  cannot  make  matters  worse  by  speaking 
to  Annik,  and  he  may  make  them  better;  and,  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  fancy  the  foolish  girl  likes  him.  Yes, 
yes,  if  the  tide  does  not  carry  him  off,  my  friend,  he  will 
come  back  and  try  his  chance." 

"  Then  " — Lao  spoke  coolly,  but  in  a  determined 
voice — "he  must  not  come  back  to  Kerion." 

There  was  silence  after  this.  Presently  Guerik  spoke 
and  Lao  answered,  but  in  such  low  voices,  that  Annik 
could  not  distinguish  words.  It  seemed  to  her,  from  the 
dull  continued  murmur,  that  the  two  men  were  carrying 
on  the  talk  in  whispers. 

Annik  rose  up  softly  from  the  floor.  She  felt 
strangely  calm  and  alert.  One  thought  ruled  her — to 
leave  the  house  as  quickly  and  silently  as  she  could,  and 
to  warn  Silvestik  of  coming  danger. 

She  dared  not  go  down-stairs  ;  she  could  not  open 
the  heavy  house  door,  which  she  had  heard  her  uncle 
close,  without  risk  of  noise  ;  she  dared  not  even  undraw 
the  bolt  of  her  room.  But  she  saw  her  way  of  escape 
clearly,  and  at  once  set  to  work  to  reach  it. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  139 

Her  room  was-  but  half  the  size  of  that  below,  half 
being  boarded  off  and  used  as  a  receptacle  for  fodder. 
There  was  a  square  opening  in  this  boarded  parti- 
tion, with  a  bit  of  canvas  nailed  across  to  screen  off  the 
draught  which  came  through  a  window  opening  in  the 
hay-loft. 

Annik  cautiously  dressed  herself,  and  then,  with  a 
pair  of  scissors,  she  cut  open  the  canvas  screen  that 
divided  her  from  the  hay-loft.  Once  more  she  listened, 
but  the  dull  murmur  of  voices  had  not  ceased. 

There  was  more  light  from  the  outer  opening  in  the 
loft  than  had  come  through  Annik's  window,  though  a 
chestnut  tree  stood  close  to  the  house  on  this  side  also, 
but  the  nearest  branch  had  been  scathed  by  lightning, 
and  was  now  leafless. 

With  her  shoes  in  her  hand,  Annik  got  through  the 
opening  from  her  room  into  the  loft.  Slowly  and  softly, 
step  by  step,  feeling  her  way  as  she  went  on,  she  groped 
across  the  hay  and  bean  stalks  till  she  reached  the  outer 
opening. 

She  leant  forward  and  stretched  out  her  hand  till  it 
touched  the  long  scathed  branch  that  reached  across  the 
back  of  the  house — it  was  no  new  experience  for  Annik 
to  descend  by  the  chestnut  tree.  Often  when  her  uncle's 
rude  words  had  made  her  run  upstairs  in  anger,  she  had 


140  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

got  out  of  the  house  by  this  means/and  now  she  soon 
found  her  way  to  the  branch  and  from  thence  quickly  to 
the  soft  ground  below,  for  the  rain  had  made  mire  of  the 
yard  behind  the  house. 

She  paused  and  listened.  She  could  only  hear  the 
movement  of  the  cows  within  the  house  ;  she  slipped  on 
her  shoes,  and  started  off  in  the  darkness  towards 
Tregunc. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHAT  ANNIK  SAW  AT  THE  ROCKING-STONE. 

HEAVY-FOOTED,  for  the  mud  clung  in  lumps  to  her 
shoes,  tired,  yet  too  overwrought  to  be  sensible  of  fatigue, 
Annik  at  last  reached  the  road  beside  which  stood  the 
Rocking-Stone,  and  before  long  the  vast  mysterious 
mass  loomed  in  the  darkness. 

She  looked  round  her.  The  dull  sound  of  lapping 
waves  told  that  the  sea  was  not  far  off,  and  southwards 
the  lightness  of  the  horizon  pointed  out  its  whereabouts. 

The  dull  sadness  of  the  sound  recalled  Lao's  ominous 
words — "  He  must  not  come  back  to  Kerion." 

"  Silvestik !  Silvestik !"  she  cried,  in  an  agony  of 
terror,  "where  art  thou  ?  It  is  Annik  who  calls." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  141 

From  across  the  road  came  a  voice  she  knew  well — 
the  voice  of  the  good  Cure. 

"Who  goes  there?  If  you  are  a  Christian  man  or 
woman,  in  the  name  of  God  come  and  help  a  dying  man  !" 

A  thrill  of  terror  passed  through  Annik. 

"  I  come,  I  come  !"  she  cried. 

And  she  went  in  the  direction  of  the  voice,  slipping 
and  stumbling  over  the  uneven  ground  ;  and  soon,  in  the 
darkness,  she  saw  the  priest  bending  over  some  one  who 
lay  outstretched  at  his  feet. 

Without  a  word  she  flung  herself  down  beside  the 
senseless  body,  and  chafed  the  cold  hands,  till  at  last  she 
fancied  they  moved  within  her  own. 

The  Cure  spoke,  and  she  answered,  but  it  seemed  to 
Annik  that  she  was  some  one  else,  and  that  she  heard 
her  own  voice  speaking  to  the  good  father,  "  Beware  of 
Lao  and  of  Guerik,"  she  said, "they  will  murder  Silvestik." 

Presently  came  footsteps,  and  a  light  beamed  up  the 
road.  Annik  rose  to  her  feet,  and  she  saw  her  uncle  and 
Lao. 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  and  spoke  vehemently — 
"  Keep  off,  cowards  and  murderers  !  You  shall  not  touch 
Silvestik." 

But  as  she  spoke  she  grew  faint  and  giddy  ;  and  as 
Lao  answered  her  soothingly,  she  sank  on  the  ground. 


142  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"Mathurin  Gue"rik,"  the  Cure  said  sternly,  "go  back 
at  once  for  your  horse  and  cart  to  carry  these  children 
home.  As  to  you,"  he  said  to  Lao,  "  begone — you  are 
not  wanted." 

This  was  all  Annik  heard,  and  then  she  knew  no 
more. 

Annik  opened  her  eyes,  and  wondered  as  she  looked 
round  her. 

"Aha!"  a  cheery  voice  said  from  the  chair  beside 
"the  bed,  "you  have  slept  late,  my  poor  Annik;  you 
must  rise  now,  for  Monsieur  le  Cure"  wants  a  talk  with 
you." 

Jeanneton,  the  Cure's  old  housekeeper,  patted  the 
girl's  cheek,  and  handed  her  a  cup  of  coffee.  But  Annik 
could  not  drink.  She  sat  up  gazing  in  the  cheery  old 
face  with  eager  straining  eyes.  She  feared  to  ask  the 
question  that  hung  on  her  lips.  The  old  woman  seemed 
to  understand  the  questioning  look. 

"  Silvestik  is  all  right,"  she  said.  "  It  is  well  to  be 
young,"  she  went  on,  and  she  shook  her  head  reproach- 
fully. "  Monsieur  le  Cur6  permits  much  to  young  people, 
or  I  would  ask  what  you  and  Silvestik  Kergroes  had 
been  about  when  the  good  father  found  you  and  brought 
you  both  home  half  dead  last  night." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  143 

"And  he  ?" — cried  Annik,  with  a  burst  of  sobs. 

"He!"  Jeanneton  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "He  is 
in  the  parlour  with  Monsieur.  But  he  is  a  fright,  I  can 
tell  you,  with  his  bandaged  head  and  broken  arm — poor 
fellow  !  You  seem  to  have  come  off  best,  mademoiselle," 
she  added  crossly. 

But  Annik  flung  her  arms  round  the  old  woman's 
neck,  laughing,  and  crying,  and  sobbing  all  at  once,  in  a 
most  incoherent  manner — a  manner  which,  as  Jeanneton 
afterwards  told  her  master,  was  quite  unsuited  to  a  pres- 
bytery. 

But  for  all  that,  Annik  stayed  on  at  the  Curb's  house 
till  the  chestnut  leaves  grew  brown,  and  began  to  fall 
slowly  from  their  stalks,  and  then,  one  fine  clear  morning, 
Silvestik  and  Annik  were  wedded  in  the  little  village 
church  of  Kerion,  and  went  home  to  Nizon  to  live  at  the 
mill. 

Lao  Coatfrec  never  came  back  to  Ke'rion,  though 
Mathurin  Guerik  still  lived  on  in  the  old  farm-house  ; 
but  Annik  never  crossed  its  threshold  after  her  marriage. 


144  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AURAY— THE  BISCLAVERET. 

OUR  next  halt  afte*  Quimperle  was  at  the  little  town  of 
Auray,  which  is  among  the  most  pleasant  of  Breton 
towns,  quaint  and  quiet,  sleeping  beside  the  river  of 
the  same  name. 

It  possesses  no  public  buildings  worthy  of  remark, 
and  though  in  the  oldest  quarter  there  still  remain  many 
picturesque  houses  dating  from  mediaeval  times,  the 
charm  of  the  place  consists  chiefly  in  its  pleasant  posi- 
tion beside  the  river,  almost  surrounded  by  wooded 
hills.  It  is  pleasant  of  an  evening  to  see  the  women 
sitting  in  front  of  the  quaint  old  houses,  knitting  or 
spinning,  while  their  tongues  go  as  fast  as  the  whirr  of 
the  wheels. 

Within  a  drive  are  to  be  found  the  stones  of  Carnac  ; 
and  a  day  will  take  the  traveller  to  the  remarkable 
scenery  and  antiquities  of  Loc-maria-ker  and  back. 

A   few  miles  from  the  town  is  the  church  of  St.  Anne 
d'Auray,  celebrated  for  its  yearly  pilgrimages.      Many 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY. 


'45 


thousands  of  pilgrims  flock    thither  from   all   parts  of 
Brittany  ;   and  the  scenes  both  inside  and  outside  the 


OLD   WOMAN    SPINNING. 


church  are  most  picturesque  and  entertaining.  Among 
other  curious  ceremonies,  the  pilgrims  go  up  and  down 
the  steps  of  the  Scala  Santa  on  their  knees.  There  is 

L 


146  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

also  a  miraculous  fountain,  and  countless  bowls  and 
vessels  full  of  the  healing  water  are  drunk  there.  Blind 
and  lame  beggars  drive  a  "  roaring  trade  "  at  this  spot. 

Close  to  Auray  is  the  establishment  of  the  Chart- 
reuse ;  it  occupies  the  site  of  the  chapel  that  the  Duke  of 
Brittany,  John  the  Fourth,  caused  to  be  built  upon  the 
field  of  the  battle  of  Auray.  Near  the  church  belong- 
ing to  the  convent  is  the  famous  Champ  des  Martyrs  ; 
and  here,  too,  stands  the  monument  to  the  memory  of 
the  emigres  and  royalists  who  fell  at  Quiberon,  or  were 
shot  on  the  banks  of  the  Auray. 

All  these  places  of  interest  make  the  little  town  of 
Auray  a  very  desirable  place  to  spend  some  days   in 
In  the  woods  round  Auray  wolves  used  to  be  plentiful  ; 
and  probably  the  scene  of  the  Lai  of  Marie  de  France 
was  not  far  from  Auray. 


A  BRETON  LEGEND  ADAPTED  FROM  THE  LAI   OF 
MARIE   DE   FRANCE. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  lived  in  Brittany  a  noble 
gentleman  of  great  worth  and  remarkable  beauty.  He 
was  in  high  favour  with  his  prince,  and  was  dearly  loved 
and  honoured  by  his  friends.  To  crown  all,  he  had 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  147 

lately  married  a  lovely  lady  of  high  degree,  and  she 
loved  him  very  tenderly.  They  were  as  happy  as  the 
birds  in  springtime ;  but  after  a  while  one  circum- 
stance troubled  the  young  wife's  happiness,  and  caused 
her  many  hours  of  sad  and  anxious  thought.  She 
observed  that  regularly  every  week  her  lord  went  away 
from  home  for  three  days.  She  asked  him  the  reason, 
but  he  either  made  no  reply  or  else  evaded  her  inquiries. 
Then  she  questioned  some  of  the  old  retainers,  but  no 
one  seemed  to  know  what  became  of  their  lord  during 
the  three  days  of  his  absence  from  home. 

Time  passed  on,  and  she  grew  yet  more  troubled  and 
suspicious. 

One  day  her  lord  came  home  in  a  more  joyous 
and  affectionate  humour  than  was  usual  to  him,  and  the 
lady  thought  this  was  the  opportunity  she  had  been 
seeking. 

She  returned  his  caresses  very  tenderly,  and  then 
entreated  him  to  explain  to  her  the  mystery  of  these 
frequent  absences  from  his  castle. 

"  But  for  them,"  she  cried,  "  I  should  be  truly  happy  ; 
surely  you  will  remove  this  cloud  from  my  mind. 

The  lord  looked  sorely  troubled,  and  he  turned  his 
face  from  her  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"You   must  not  question   me,  my  beloved,"  he  an- 


I48  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

swered  ;  "  it  may  be  that  if  you  do,  you  will  altogether 
destroy  our  happiness." 

But  her  curiosity  was  far  stronger  than  her  love 
was,  and  at  last,  overcome  by  her  fond  importunities,  he 
confessed  his  fatal  secret.  He  told  her  that  he  was  a 
Loup-garou,  or  a  Bisclaveret,  as  the  Bretons  call  the 
creature,  and  that  during  the  three  days  of  his  weekly 
absence  from  home  he  roamed  the  forest  hard  by  in  the 
form  of  a  wolf. 

"  Dame  jeo  deviens  Bisclaveret, 
En  cele  grant  forest  me  met." 

The  lady's  heart  grew  cold  with  horror ;  but  sHe  hid 
her  surprise  and  dread  as  well  as  she  could,  and  continued 
her  questions — 

"  Do  you  roam  this  forest  in  your  clothes  ?"  she  asked. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  sadly. 

"  Tell  me  then,"  she  said,  coaxingly,  "  what  you  do 
with  your  clothes  ?" 

But  her  lord  shook  his  head  and  withdrew  himself 
from  her  arms. 

"  I  may  not  satisfy  you  on  this  point,"  he  said,  "  for 
if  by  any  chance  I.  were  to  lose  my  clothes,  or  if  I  were 
even  seen  in  the  act  of  taking  them  off,  I  should  be  con- 
demned to  remain  a  loup-garou  until  my  clothes  were 
restored  to  me." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  149 

The  lady  burst  into  tears. 

"Ah,  how  unkind  you  are,"  she  sobbed,  "Mon  Dieu  ! 
what  have  I  done  to  forfeit  your  confidence.  Tell  me, 
my  husband,  what  risk  can  there  be  in  trusting  your  secret 
to  your  faithful  wife  ?" 

Under  the  influence  of  these  words,  and  the  like,  and 
many  caresses,  the  poor  gentleman  once  more  yielded. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  "  the  ancient  ruined  chapel  near 
to  where  the  four  roads  meet  in  the  forest.  There  I 
find  at  these  times  safe  shelter.  In  a  thicket  near  there 
is  a  hollow  stone,  under  which  I  hide  my  clothes."  . 

The  lady  said  nothing  ;  but  she  thought  much.  She 
was  greatly  disturbed  by  all  she  had  heard  ;  she  was 
married  to  a  loup-garou  !  and  this  was  anything  but  a 
pleasant  fact  to  ponder  on.  She  shuddered  whenever 
she  looked  at  her  husband,  and  the  result  of  her  medita- 
tions was,  that  she  determined  to  get  rid  of  him.  But 
she  kept  her  plans  to  herself,and  dissembled  like  a  woman 
who  knows  all  the  tricks  of  her  sex.  She  affected  even 
more  than  her  usual  love  for  her  handsome  lord. 

There  lived  in  the  neighbourhood  another  cavalier, 
who  was  passionately  in  love  with  the  wife  of  the  loup- 
garou.  Up  to  this  time  she  had  treated  him  with  great 
coldness — but  now  he  came  into  her  mind  ;  he  was  not  so 
handsome  as  her  lord,  but  he  was  not  a  loup-garou.  She 


150  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

changed  her  behaviour  towards  him.  During  the  absence 
of  her  husband  she  sent  the  cavalier  an  invitation  to  come 
and  see  her,  giving  him  to  understand  that  she  was  willing 
to  accept  his  love  and  his  service.  The  cavalier,  full  of 
joy,  hastened  to  present  himself  before  her.  Their  inter- 
view was  long  and  satisfactory  ;  the  lady  told  him  of  the 
secret  trouble  that  had  come  into  her  life,  and  demanded 
his  aid  to  release  her  from  it ;  she  told  him  at  the  same 
time  what  had  passed  between  her  husband  and  herself 
about  the  concealment  of  the  clothes — and  what  would 
befall  if  they  were  taken  away. 

"  Do  you  think  that  any  union  is  binding  to"  such  a 
monster  as  a  loup-garou  ?" 

"  No,  by  heavens  !"  said  the  cavalier,  who  then  ex- 
pressed the  most  devoted  love  for  her,  and  pledged  him- 
self to  do  all  she  wished.  So  they  parted. 

From  that  day  the  unfortunate  husband  was  no  more 
seen  ;  his  friends  and  his  relations  sought  for  him  in  vain. 
His  wife  also  made  a  show  of  great  grief  at  his  strange 
disappearance,  and  caused  diligent  search  to  be  made, 
but  before  many  months  had  elapsed  she  married  the 
cavalier. 

Just  at  this  time  it  happened  that  the  king  had 
passed  a  whole  year  without  hunting,  and  all  at  once 
he  felt  violently  inclined  for  a  day's  sport  in  the  forest. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  151 

Now  the  forest  in  which  the  king  was  accustomed  to 
hunt  happened  to  be  the  very  one  in  which  our  poor 
Bisclaveret  had  been  condemned  to  wander.  The  king 
summoned  his  noblest  attendants,  and  set  out  for  the 
chase.  Almost  as  soon  as  the  hounds  were  uncoupled, they 
discovered  the  poor  animal,  and  dashed  after  him  as  he 
fled  at  their  approach.  They  pursued  him  all  through 
the  day  ;  already  he  had  received  several  wounds,  his 
strength  was  almost  exhausted.  The  hounds  were  closing 
in  upon  him,  and  he  was  preparing  for  the  last  struggle, 
when  he  perceived  the  king  ;  in  an  instant  he  darted  up 
to  the  prince,  raised  himself  against  his  stirrup,  licked 
the  prince's  leg  and  foot,  and,  by  his  pitiful  moans  and 
almost  human  look,  seemed  to  implore  his  protection. 

At  first  the  king  was  alarmed  by  this  strange  inci- 
dent, but  finding  no  harm  come  of  it,  he  quickly  recovered 
himself.  "  Hold  off,"  he  said  to  his  followers,  "  and  call 
off  the  dogs  ;  I  forbid  that  any  injury  should  be  done  to 
the  poor  animal  which  has  sought  my  protection."  To  his 
astonishment  the  creature  seemed  to  understand  him. 
It  at  once  became  quiet,  and  stood  beside  his  stirrup, 
looking  up  at  him  with  grateful  eyes.  The  king  was 
more  and  more  surprised  ;  he  at  once  gave  orders  to  re- 
turn to  the  palace.  He  said  he  had  had  enough  sport 
for  that  day.  The  wolf  followed  close  behind  the  king, 


152  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

like  a  dog,  and  when  they  reached  the  palace  went  up 
with  him  even  to  his  chamber.  The  courtiers  tried  to 
interfere,  but  the  king,  yielding  to  some  strange  influence, 
bade  them  let  the  beast  alone. 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  the  wolf  was  in  great  favour 
both  with  the  king  and  the  whole  court. 

He  spent  his  days  among  the  courtiers,  who  delighted 
in  his  intelligence  and  his  gentleness,  but  every  night  he 
slept  at  the  foot  of  the  king's  bed. 

Not  very  long  after  the  capture  of  the  loup- 
garou,  the  king  determined  to  hold  a  cour  pleniere, 
and  to  give  greater  importance  to  the  occasion  he  invited 
all  his  barons  and  vassals  to  be  present.  The  cavalier 
who  had  married  the  wife  of  the  loup-garou  came  among 
the  others.  As  usual  the  wolf  was  at  his  post  close  be- 
side the  king.  But  when  the  cavalier  advanced  from 
the  crowd  to  pay  homage  to  his  prince,  the  wolf  uttered 
a  wild  cry,  sprang  upon  him,  threw  him  down,  and  bit 
him  very  severely. 

There  was  a  loud  clamour,  and  all  was  confusion,  but 
the  king  shouted  to  the  animal,  and  it  immediately  slunk 
back  to  its  place  beside  the  royal  chair.  Every  one  was 
astonished  at  this  sudden  outbreak  of  fury  from  so  tame 
and  gentle  a  creature,  which  had  hitherto  behaved  more 
l;e  a  lamb  than  a  wolf.  But  many  who  witnessed  the 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  153 

attack  shook  their  heads,  and  said  it  was  very  strange  ; 
there  was  more  in  it  than  they  could  understand. 

The  cavalier  was  furious  ;  he  would  have  killed  the 
wolf  if  he  had  not  feared  the  king's  displeasure.  How- 
ever, he  promised  himself  an  early  day  of  vengeance. 

Some  time  after  this  the  king  went  again  to  hunt  in 
the  forest  where  he  had  met  with  our  wolf.  The  creature 
went  with  him  ;  it  seemed  as  though  it  felt  that  there 
was  no  security  for  it  away  from  the  king,  and,  indeed, 
the  king  himself,  moved  by  his  affection  and  by  some 
strange  sympathy,  had  commanded  that  the  animal 
should  be  always  with  him. 

The  faithless  wife  of  the  loup-garou,  hearing  of  the 
royal  visit  to  her  neighbourhood,  requested  an  audience. 
Her  request  was  granted,  but  as  soon  as  she  entered  the 
king's  presence  the  wolf  sprang  at  her,  as  he  had  sprung 
at  her  husband,  and  bit  off  her  nose.  Swords  were 
quickly  drawn,  and  the  woman  was  rescued  from  the 
furious  animal,  which  would  have  been  most  certainly  cut 
to  pieces,  but  a  wise  man  among  those  present  took  the 
creature's  part,  and  begged  his  assailants  to  hold  their 
hands  a  while,  "there  is  something  strange  in  all  this  ;" 
he  said,  "  I  counsel  His  Majesty  to  imprison  this  lady 
till  she  confesses,  if  she  is  able,  what  cause  for  hatred 
this  wolf  has  against  herself  and  her  husband." 


154  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

At  first  the  terrified  woman  denied  all  kncnvledee  of 

o 

this  beast,  but  after  a  while — faint  and  suffering,  and 
seeing  that  her  imprisonment  was  resolved  on — she  told 
the  story  of  the  loup-garou,  and  confessed  her  sin  against 
him.  She  said  that  she  and  her  present  husband  had 
stolen  his  clothes  from  under  the  stone  where  they  were 
hidden  ;  and  then  bursting  into  tears,  she  said,  "And  this 
wolf  is  doubtless  my  former  lord." 

The  king  then  demanded  if  any  of  her  lord's  clothes 
were  yet  in  her  possession  ;  and  when  she  answered 
"Yes,"  he  bade  her  send  and  fetch  them  instantly.  This 
was  done,  and  the  clothes  were  placed  before  the  Bis- 
claveret,  but  he  seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  them.  Then 
the  wise  man  who  had  before  spoken  said  it  was  probable 
the  loup-garou  would  not  put  on  his  clothes  or  undergo 
his  metamorphosis  in  public. 

The  king  agreed  with  this  opinion,  and  he  himself 
took  the  loup-garou  into  his  own  bedroom,  where  he 
left  him  alone  with  the  clothes. 

Some  hours  after  he  returned  accompanied  by  two 
of  his  barons — and  to  his  wonder  and  delight  he  saw  his 
long  lost  favourite  asleep  upon  the  royal  bed. 

At  this  sight  the  king  could  not  restrain  his  joy ; 
with  a  loud  cry  he  ran  to  him. 

The  noble  wakened  at  the  noise,  and  sprang  to  his 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  155 

feet  rubbing  his  eyes.  The  king  threw  his  arms  round 
him,  and  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks,  crying  out  how 
happy  he  was  to  see  him  once  more. 

He  immediately  restored  to  him  all  his  former 
honours  and  possessions,  and  also  bestowed  many  rich 
gifts  upon  him.  The  faithless  wife,  and  the  cavalier  who 
had  helped  her  to  accomplish  her  treason,  were  ignomini- 
ously  banished  the  kingdom.  The  guilty  pair  lived  some 
years  after,  and  had  several  children,  and  strangely 
enough  the  girls  were  all  born  without  noses. 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


CHAPTER  VII. 

VANNES— THE  STORY  OF  THE  GLOVER. 

FROM  Auray  the  drive  to  Vannes  is  very  pleasant,  though 
at  first  sight  Vannes  seems  dull  and  wanting  in  colour  in 
comparison  with  the  picturesque  towns  of  Finistere. 
But  it  is  the  capital  of  Morbihan,  and  within  reach  of  it 
are  some  of  the  grandest  and  weirdest  of  the  monolithic 
remains  that  make  Brittany  so  specially  interesting.  As 
we  stayed  on  in  Vannes,  and  found  out  its  quaint  twisted 
streets  and  charming  fragments  of  old  wall  built  up 
between  houses,  its  Tour  du  Connetable,  with  the  wash- 
ing-place in  the  river  below  so  full  of  light  and  shade,  its 
evening  walks  in  the  tree-shaded  Garenne,  we  grew 
warmly  attached  to  the  old  city  so  full  of  historical 
memories,  and  were  loth  to  leave  it.  One  of  its  best 
local  antiquaries,  Mr.  Alfred  Fouquet,  had  died  not  long 
before  we  reached  Vannes.  He  not  only  made  some 
very  useful  researches  in  Carnac  and  elsewhere,  and 
published  a  most  useful  little  manual  for  the  use  of 
travellers  in  search  of  the  real  wonders  of  Brittany,  but 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  157 

he  had  begun  to  collect  real  legends  from  the  lips  of 
the  peasantry,  and  had  published  a  book,  now,  alas  !  out 
of  print,  containing  a  collection  of  these.  We  tried 
vainly  to  get  a  sight  of  this  book,  but  even  his  widow 
did  not  seem  to  possess  a  copy  of  it  ;  however,  we  heard 
one  or  two  of  the  stories,  and  the  following  is  said  to 
be  in  M.  Fouquet's  collection  :— 


(Blotoer  of 


THERE  lived  in  Vannes  a  great  many  years  ago  an 
honest  and  devout  glover.  His  nearest  friend  was  a 
tailor  who  lived  in  the  place  Henri  Quatre,  but  he  lay 
a-dying,  and  his  friend  the  glover  had  stayed  with  him 
till  a  late  hour  doing  all  for  him  that  he  could. 

Late  as  it  was  he  saw,  as  he  passed  the  cathedral  that 
the  doors  were  still  open,  and  he  turned  into  the  church 
and  knelt  before  the  altar  of  one  of  the  side  chapels. 

There  was  scarcely  any  light,  almost  all  the  worship- 
pers had  departed,  the  place  was  wrapped  in  deep  silence, 
and  the  poor  glover,  exhausted  by  his  grief  and  by  many 
nights  of  watching  beside  his  sick  friend,  soon  began  to 
nod. 

He  roused  himself,  but  he  soon  fell  off  to  sleep  again, 
such  sound  sleep  that  neither  the  jingle  of  the  keys  nor 


158  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

the  sound  of  the  locks,  nor  even  the  angelus  bell,  roused 
him  awake. 

All  at  once  the  clock  struck  twelve,  and  then  the 
glover  started  and  rubbed  his  eyes  ;  he  was  stiff  with 
cold,  and  he  could  not  remember  where  he  was.  It  was 
no  longer  dark,  and  as  he  opened  his  eyes  wide  awake 
now,  he  saw  standing  before  the  altar  at  which  he  knelt 
a  priest  garbed  in  a  black  chasuble  embroidered  with  a 
large  white  cross.  The  altar  was  draped  in  black,  and 
two  wax  candles  stood  on  it ;  by  their  pale  light  he  saw 
on  each  candle  a  death's  head  and  crossbones. 

The  glover  was  much  surprised  and  deeply  impressed 
by  what  seemed  to  him  a  funereal  scene,  but  as  he  was 
always  more  ready  to  help  others  than  to  think  of  him- 
self, he  soon  remarked  that  there  was  no  assistant  pre- 
sent, and  he  went  and  knelt  down  before  the  priest  to 
act  as  server. 

As  he  knelt  down  he  glanced  at  the  priest's  face — 

Oh,  horror !  the  priest  was  a  skeleton  with  hollow 
eye-sockets  and  fleshless  cheeks. 

The  terrified  glover  fell  senseless  on  the  ground,  and 
there  he  remained  till  the  morning  angelus  bell  roused 
him,  and  he  went  home  to  his  family. 

From  this  time  he  was  a  changed  man.  All  the 
serene  gaiety  that  had  once  characterised  him  dis- 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  159 

appeared,  he  became  morose  and  silent  even  towards 
his  wife,  and  he  scarcely  noticed  his  children.  Above  all 
things  he  dreaded  sleep  ;  it  no  sooner  visited  him  than  he 
was  filled  with  fear,  horrible  dreams  and  frightful  night- 
mare soon  banished  sleep,  and  made  bedtime  a  penance 
to  which  he  looked  forward  with  dread. 

At  last,  afraid  that  his  reason  was  deserting  him,  he 
resolved  to  confide  all  to  his  spiritual  guide,  and  he  im- 
plored the  good  priest  to  shed,  if  possible,  some  peace 
into  his  soul. 

"  My  son,"  said  the  priest,  "  you  are  in  error ;  why 
should  you  thus  fret  and  disturb  your  soul  about  that 
which  is  perhaps  only  a  delusion,  but  which,  if  it  is  real, 
should  be  made  a  matter  of  serious  inquiry  ?  Either 
Satan  tempted  you  during  that  night  in  the  cathedral, 
or  you  are  chosen  by  God  himself  to  expiate  some  negli- 
gence or  sacrilege  committed  against  him.  There  is  but 
one  way,  my  son,  if  you  would  regain  peace  here  on 
earth  and  assure  your  eternal  salvation  :  you  must  watch 
in  the  same  place  and  at  the  same  hour  for  the  return  of 
the  visitation  which  has  so  shaken  your  nerves." 

"  Oh,  my  father,"  cried  the  glover,  "  do  not  lay  such 
a  penance  on  me.  The  terror  of  it  will  infallibly  destroy 
me." 

"  If  you    go  to  the   chapel   trusting   in    your  own 


160  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

strength,"  said  the  confessor  "  you  will  doubtless  perish  ; 
but,  my  son,  you  well  know  that  faith  is  our  sure  shield, 
and  that  prayer  is  a  most  powerful  weapon.  Pray  and 
believe,  and  if  the  spectre  reappears,  question  it  boldly  in 
the  name  of  the  living  God  ;  bid  it  tell  you  in  whose 
name  it  comes.  Go,  my  son,  I  absolve  you,  and  may 
God  be  with  you." 

That  very  evening — strong  in  faith,  but  weak  in 
spirit  —  the  glover  went  to  the  cathedral.  He  knelt 
before  the  altar  in  the  same  chapel,  .but  he  did  not 
fall  asleep  ;  he  heard  the  gates  and  doors  lock,  but  he 
did  not  think  he  prayed  fervently  till  the  dreaded  hour 
came. 

The  first  stroke  of  midnight  sounded,  and  all  at  once 
the  two  candles  on  the  altar  lit  of  themselves.  The 
altar  was  draped  in  black,  and  the  skeleton  priest  in  his 
black  chasuble  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the  chapel. 

"  Hold,"  cried  the  glover,  "  if  you  come  in  the  name 
of  Satan  I  charge  you  to  depart  from  this  holy  place  ; 
but  if  you  come  in  the  name  of  Almighty  God,  speak, 
and  tell  your  need." 

"  Listen  and  believe,  my  son,"  said  the  spectre  in  a 
stifled  voice  ;  "  for  years,  oh  !  such  long  years  of  suffering, 
I  am  doomed  to  wait  every  night  at  this  altar  till  some 
good  Christian  comes  to  serve  at  a  mass  which  I  pro- 


RUE   DE  JER2UAL,    Ul.NAN. 


FROAT  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  161 

mised  to  say,  and  which  I  first  neglected,  and  then 
forgot.  This  fatal  neglect  and  forgetfulness  have  closed 
heaven,  not  only  against  me,  but  against  the  soul  for 
which  the  mass  should  have  been  said.  Blessed  art 
thou  my  son  whom  God  has  chosen  to  save  two  souls." 

He  ceased  and  knelt  down  before  the  altar  ;  the 
glover  knelt  beside  him,  and  the  mass  of  the  dead  was 
said  ;  but  as  the  priest  uttered  the  words  "  depart  in 
peace,"  he  disappeared  ;  and  the  glover  looking  up,  saw 
through  the  window  two  broad  rays  of  light  going  up 
heavenward. 

The  glover  wiped  his  forehead,  and  then  waited 
till  the  angelus  bell  sounded  ;  then  he  returned  to  his 
family  with  his  wonted  happy  smile,  for  his  mind 
had  recovered  its  balance,  and  peace  reigned  in  his 
soul. 


M 


1 62  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

DINAN— THE  DUEL  BETWEEN  BERTRAND  DU  GUESCLIN  AND  SIR 
THOMAS  OF  CANTERBURY— THE  STORY  OF  LA  GARAYE. 

WE  found  the  scenery  of  the  valley  of  the  Ranee  most 
charming  and  romantic  ;  on  the  side  and  summit  of  a 
rocky  steep  in  this  valley  the  town  of  Dinan  is  built, 
and  its  effect  from  the  river  is  exquisitely  picturesque. 
The  town  itself  is  very  interesting  ;  the  older  quarters 
abound  in  quaint  houses,  with  overhanging  stones  and 
arcades  on  granite  or  wooden  pillars. 

The  Rue  de  Jerzual,  the  subject  of  the  illustration, 
is  of  great  length  ;  it  leads  down  almost  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  presents  a  succession  of  quaint  old  houses, 
forming  many  charming  pictures.  This  street  is  so 
steep,  that  it  is  a  labour  to  climb  ;  it  was  originally  the 
only  approach  to  the  town  on  the  St.  Malo  side.  Now 
the  splendid  granite  viaduct  which  spans  the  valley 
(begun  in  1846)  enables  one  to  avoid  this  laborious 
ascent.  The  piers  of  this  viaduct  rise  one  hundred  and 
thirty  feet  from  the  bed  of  the  river. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  163 

The  castle,  built  early  in  the  fourteenth  century, 
with  its  machicolated  donjon,  is  very  picturesque ; 
it  is  a  fine  and  well-preserved  specimen  of  military 
architecture.  Anne  of  Brittany  lived  in  it.  Bertrand 
du  Guesclin  withstood  a  siege  in  this  castle,  the  public 
place  of  Dinan  was  the  scene  of  the  famous  combat 
between  du  Guesclin  and  the  English  knight,  Sir 
Thomas  of  Canterbury,  in  1359. 

It  was  during  the  siege  of  Dinan  by  the  Duke  of 
Lancaster,  that  this  duel  a  Fontrance  took  place.  The 
account  of  it  is  taken  from  a  life  of  Du  Guesclin  by 
Emile  de  Bonnechose.  Bertrand  du  Guesclin  was  in 
Dinan  with  his  young  brother  Oliver ;  a  suspension  of 
arms  for  forty  days  having  been  signed,  Oliver,  relying 
on  the  treaty,  went  out  of  the  town  without  any  misgiv- 
ings, and  approached  the  English  camp.  He  met  on  his 
way  a  very  strong  and  valiant  English  knight,  by  name 
Sir  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  who  stopped  him,  seized  his 
person,  and  taking  him  by  force  to  the  camp,  kept  him 
prisoner  in  his  tent.  When  the  news  reached  Bertrand, 
he  grew  red  with  fury  ("  S'y  rougit  comme  charbon  "), 
says  the  old  chronicler,  and  having  learned  the  name  of 
the  false  knight  who  held  his  brother  captive,  cried  out, 
"By  St.  Yves,  he  shall  soon  give  him  up."  Bertrand 
immediately  mounts  his  horse,  gallops  to  the  English 


164  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

camp,  and  arriving  at  the  Prince's  tent,  demands  an 
audience.  He  enters  and  finds  the  Duke  of  Lancaster 
playing  chess  with  the  celebrated  Sir  John  Chandos, 
surrounded  by  the  principal  barons,  among  whom  are 
Robert  Knolles  and  young  Montfort. 

The  prince  having  recognised  him,  said,  "You  are 
welcome,  Bertrand."  And  as  Bertrand  bent  the  knee 
before  him,  Lancaster  left  his  game,  held  out  his  hand 
to  him,  and  raised  him  up.  The  English  barons  also 
welcomed  him,  and  Chandos  offered  him  wine  ;  but 
Bertrand  answered  that  he  would  not  lift  a  glass  to  his 
lips  until  justice  had  been  done  him  for  the  foul  outrage 
offered  to  his  brother.  He  then  told  them  how  his  brother 
Oliver  had  been  taken  captive,  contrary  to  all  right,  by 
Canterbury,  and  demanded  that  he  should  be  delivered 
up  to  him  at  once.  Lancaster  immediately  summoned 
the  accused  to  his  presence  and  ordered  him  to  answer 
the  accusation.  Canterbury,  trusting  in  his  strength, 
and  full  of  wrath  and  arrogance,  answered  that  if 
Bertrand  du  Guesclin  imputed  to  him  an  action  unworthy 
of  a  knight,  he  must  prove  it  by  sustaining  his  cause  in 
person  sword  in  hand,  and  so  saying  he  threw  down  his 
glove. 

Du  Guesclin  rushed  to  pick  it  up.  "  False  knight," 
said  he,  "perjured  and  traitor,  I  will  prove  it  on  thy 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  165 

body  !  I  will  fight  thee  before  all  the  barons.  I  swear  by 
the  true  God  that  I  will  not  sleep  in  a  bed  nor  break 
bread  until  I  have  had  the  right  of  thee  in  full  armour 
at  the  point  of  the  sword." 

Lancaster  gave  his  consent  to  the  combat,  and 
Chandos  presented  Bertrand  with  a  horse  as  a  mark  of 
his  esteem. 

When  the  inhabitants  of  Dinan  heard  of  this  duel  of 
Du  Guesclin  in  enclosed  lists  with  one  of  the  best 
champions  of  England,  they  were  moved  with  lively  fear 
for  him  whom  they  considered  their  strongest  defender. 
All  of  them  great  and  small  offered  prayers  to  God  for 
him. 

Then  a  noble  young  lady,  by  name  Typhaine 
Raguenel,  renowned  for  her  beauty  and  wisdom,  calmed 
their  apprehensions.  She  was  the  daughter  of  one  of 
the  richest  inhabitants  of  the  town,  and  had  so  high  a 
reputation  for  learning  in  astrology  and  other  occult 
sciences,  that  she  was  considered  a  witch  by  the 
common  people.  "  Do  not  be  alarmed,  good  people," 
she  said  to  the  townsfolks  of  Dinan  ;  "  fear  nothing  for 
Bertrand,  he  will  be  the  victor  in  this  conflict."  These 
words  were  repeated  to  Du  Guesclin  ;  but  he  was  then  far 
from  foreseeing  the  close  ties  which  should  hereafter 
bind  him  to  this  noble  lady,  and  he  said,  "  You  should  not 


166  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

pay  heed  to  the  vain  words  of  a  woman,  I  put  all  my 
confidence  in  God  and  in  my  right." 

It  was  decided  that  the  combat  should  take  place  in 
the  large  market-place  of  Dinan,  in  the  presence  of  the 
Duke  of  Lancaster  ;  that  the  town  should  give  hostages, 
and  that  the  Prince  should  be  admitted  with  a  train  of 
a  hundred  knights  and  barons  chosen  by  himself. 

As  the  day  approached,  Canterbury  began  to  lose 
courage,  and  Robert  Knolles,  in  his  name,  attempted  to 
make  an  accommodation  with  Du  Guesclin  ;  but  Bertrand 
was  too  much  incensed  ;  "  If  he  does  not  wish  to  fight,  let 
him  give  himself  up  to  my  mercy,  and  present  me  with 
his  sword,  holding  it  in  his  hand  by  the  point." 

"  He  will  not  do  that,"  said  Robert  Knolles.  "  He  is 
right,"  said  Bertrand,  "honour  is  worth  more  than  life." 

The  lists  were  duly  opened  in  the  great  market-place 
of  the  town,  under  the  presidentship  of  the  Duke  of 
Lancaster,  surrounded  by  his  knights,  and  in  the  presence 
of  the  governor  of  the  city,  the  Sire  de  Penhoen,  and  a 
vast  assemblage  of  the  inhabitants. 

The  two  champions  appeared,  armed  from  head  to 
foot,  and  their  horses  also  completely  covered  with  steel. 

The  signal  given,  they  urged  their  horses  forward 
with  fury,  and  threw  themselves,  sword  in  hand,  one  on 
the  other.  The  combat  was  long,  as  they  seemed  oi 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  167 

equal  strength.  The  blows  they  gave  each  other  were 
terrible ;  the  swords  struck  fire  from  their  armour, 
but  it  was  impenetrable,  and  no  blood  flowed.  At  last 
they  seized  hold  of  each  other,  each  attempting  to  drag 
the  other  from  his  horse. 

In  this  struggle  the  Englishman  dropped  his  sword, 
whereupon  Bertrand  quickly  sprang  down  into  the  arena, 
seized  the  sword,  and  threw  it  over  the  lists  among  the 
crowd.  Canterbury  now  had  no  weapon  but  his  dagger 
or  poignard ;  but  he  was  on  horseback  while  his 
adversary  was  on  foot,  and  driving  his  horse  against  Du 
Guesclin,  he  prevented  his  remounting,  and  pursued  him 
across  the  arena,  hoping  to  crush  him  under  his  horse's 
feet. 

Du  Guesclin  avoided  him  with  difficulty,  as  he  was 
impeded  by  his  armour.  At  last  he  sat  down  to  unfasten 
his  knee-pieces,  and  then,  as  the  Englishman  threw  him- 
self again  upon  him,  he  sprang  adroitly  to  one  side, 
plunging  his  sword,  as  his  enemy  passed,  into  his  horse's 
side.  The  animal  bounded  with  the  pain,  reared  up,  and 
threw  his  rider.  Du  Guesclin  darted  forward,  seized  the 
Englishman  by  the  throat,  and  pressing  his  knee  on  his 
chest,  struck  him  several  blows  on  the  face. 

The  Duke  of  Lancaster  at  this  juncture  interfered, 
the  knights  ran  forward  and  called  upon  Bertrand  to 
spare  the  vanquished. 


r68  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  Grant  his  life  to  the  Duke,"  said  Robert  Knolles  ; 
it  is  enough,  all  the  honour  is  yours.  "  I  grant  his  life 
to  the  Duke,"  said  Bertrand  ;  and  advancing  towards 
the  prince,  "  Sire,"  he  said  with  respect,  "  if  it  had  not 
been  for  obedience  to  you,  I  would  have  killed  him." 

"He  will  not  fare  much  better,"  said  Lancaster;  "you 
have  fought  valiantly.  Your  brother  will  be  restored 
to  you,  and  I  will  give  him  a  thousand  livres  to  equip 
himself.  The  arms  and  horse  of  this  felon  knight  are 
yours  ;  I  do  not  love  traitors,  and  he  will  come  no 
more  to  my  court." 

Lancaster  and  his  followers  returned  to  the  camp. 
Oliver  was  restored  to  his  brother  and  the  day  ended 
with  a  grand  fete  given  by  the  inhabitants  of  Dinan  to 
the  conqueror,  and  at  which  was  present  the  beautiful 
Typhaine  Raguenel,  who  had  foretold  the  victory. 

She  went  by  the  name  of  Typhaine  la  Fee,  from 
her  reputed  skill  in  magic  and  her  astronomic  studies. 
She  was  rich  as  well  as  learned;  and  in  1360  Du 
Guesclin  asked  her  in  marriage.  The  wedding  was 
solemnised  at  Pontorson,  which  Du  Guesclin  at  that 
time  governed  in  the  name  of  the  King  of  France. 

Typhaine  seems  to  have  been  a  very  fit  wife  for  a 
hero,  and  the  marriage  was  a  very  happy  one. 

The  heart  of  this  valiant  Breton  knight  was  buried 


RUINS  OF   THE   AliBKV,  LEHON. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  169 

beside  his  wife,  the  Lady  Typhaine,  in  the  church  ol 
the  Jacobins  at  Dinan,  but  now  church  and  heart  and 
tomb  have  disappeared.  A  black  stone  in  the  cathedral 
gives  the  lying  intelligence  that  Du  Guesclin's  heart 
reposes  there,  while  his  body  is  at  St.  Denis  ;  the 
hero's  house  is  in  the  Rue  de  la  Croix.  Dinan  is 
still  surrounded  by  strong  walls  and  massive  watch- 
towers,  and  the  old  gateways  also  remain. 

The  general  aspect  of  Dinan  and  the  country 
around  are  alike  charming. 

"  De  ce  splendide  paysage 
Qui  nous  retracera  1'image? — 
Venez  bardes  melodieux, 
De  cette  tribune  de  pierre, 
Voir  Ie  ciel  sourire  a  la  terre 
Voir  la  terre  sourire  aux  cieux." 

Within  an  easy  walk  is  the  village  of  Lehon,  one 
of  the  pleasantest  and  prettiest  of  Breton  villages. 
Once  it  was  famous  for  a  castle  and  an  abbey,  now 
both  in  ruins.  The  castle  of  Lehon  was  one  of  the 
most  powerful  in  Brittany, — built  on  the  top  of  a  steep 
hill  overlooking  the  village, — but  little  of  it  now  remains. 
The  ruins  of  the  abbey  are  far  more  pe;fect,  and,  as  the 
illustration  shows,  form  a  very  picturesque  feature  in 
the  landscape,  as  they  stand  embosomed  in  trees  beside 
the  sunny  smiling  Ranee,  that  prettiest  of  Breton  rivers 


170 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


— so  pretty  that  it  perhaps  loses  some  of  the  character- 
istics of  Brittany — the  weird  pathos  of  its  stone-covered 
landes  and  the  turbulence  of  its  rocky  brawling  streams. 


CHURCH,   LEHON. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  171 


of  Ha  (Eatrape, 


THE  poem,  "  The  Lady  of  La  Garaye,"  had  inspired 
us  with  a  very  ardent  wish  to  see  the  ruins  of  this 
famous  chateau  —  famous  in  so  remarkable  a  way 
—  not  for  sieges  sustained  and  heroic  feats  of  valour, 
but  for  succour  and  solace  given  to  hundreds  of  poor 
suffering  human  beings  by  its  skilful  and  beneficent 
lord  and  lady  ;  for  the  local  record  of  the  story  of  the 
Count  and  Countess  of  La  Garaye  speaks  of  Count 
Claude  as  the  prime  mover  in  this  great  work  of  mercy, 
of  which  his  lady's  accident  suggested  the  idea. 

We  went  out  of  quaint  picturesque  old-world  Dinan 
by  the  old  gateway  along  the  shaded  Boulevard,  under 
the  walls  of  the  exquisitely  placed  town,  which  looks 
down  on  all  sides  on  charming  and  wooded  country. 

Soon  we  came  into  a  pleasant  green  valley,  with 
a  distant  view  of  grand  old  trees.  This  valley  led  us 
into  a  sort  of  rocky  pass,  where  trees  met  overhead,  a 
most  refreshing  resting-place  on  this  hot  August  after- 
noon. Soon  after  we  came  in  sight  of  the  grand  old 
avenue  of  beech-trees.  These  were  exquisite  in  colour, 
light,  and  shade,  as  the  level  sunshine  poured  its 
brilliant  flood  over  the  grassed  drive,  while  the  massive 


172 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


boles  of  the  trees  cast  broad  bands  of  shadow  across 
the  golden  floor. 


THE  CHATEAU  OF  LA  GARAYE, 


There  is  a  loneliness  even  in  the  beauty  of  this  old 
avenue  —  reaching  to  a  length  of  more  than  two 
hundred  yards — so  silent  now  that  we  found  it  difficult  to 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  173 

realise  that  human  habitation  was  near,  and  this  feeling 
of  loneliness  and  desolation  deepened  to  intense  melan- 
choly as  we  drew  near  the  actual  entrance  of  the 
chateau. 

The  crumbling  gate-piers  of  La  Garaye  are  covered 
with  ivy,  and  trees  have  sprung  from  their  tops.  The 
entrance-court  is  cumbered  with  blocks  of  ruined 
masonry — some  completely  mantled  with  ivy,  others 
bright  with  fern  ;  over  all  thorny  red-stemmed  brambles 
flaunt  their  long  arms  boldly,  as  if  asserting  possession. 

The  chateau  is  a  complete  ruin,  except  the  well- 
known,  almost  perfect,  bit  that  stands  in  the  vegetable 
garden.  This  bit  is  exquisite  in  colour,  yet  more  beau- 
tiful, perhaps,  in  its  decay  than  when  it  was  whole. 

It  seems  a  harsh  mockery  to  gaze  at  this  lonely 
bit  of  ruin  from  the  well-stocked  fruit  garden  of  the 
farmer  who  now  owns  La  Garaye,  and  makes  market 
out  of  the  pilgrims  who  visit  the  site  where  so  much 
good  has  been  practised.  It  is  a  disgrace  to  the 
country  that  Monsieur  de  la  Garaye's  noble  work 
should  not  have  been  revived — for  the  hospital  build- 
ings still  remain  ;  an  effort  at  least  might  be  made  to 
prevent  the  total  destruction  of  his  fair  home.  For 
month  by  month  stones  fall  from  La  Garaye,  the  bats 
and  owls  that  haunt  the  clustering  ivy,  as  they  swoop 


174  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

to  and  fro  in  their  night  revels,  shake  and  loosen  cling- 
ing fragments,  and  send  them  into  the  bosom  of  the  wild 
picturesque  luxuriance  below,  a  tangle  of  nettles  and 
brambles  extending  all  around,  starred  here  and  there 
with  golden-eyed  blossoms,  while  tufts  of  flowering 
grass  and  faithful  snap-dragon  still  haunt  the  walls  of  this 
pathetic  ruin,  and  seem  to  kiss  the  mouldering  stones. 

It  is  difficult  at  first  sight  to  picture  La  Garaye  as 
it  was  in  the  first  married  years  of  Count  Claude,  and 
in  the  first  part  of  that  eighteenth  century  which 
changed  the  destinies  of  France,  and  branded  her  fair 
bosom  with  ineffaceable  scars. 

Claude  Toussaint  Marot,  Count  of  La  Garaye, 
baron  of  Blaizon,  Viscount  of  Beaufort  and  of  Taden, 
and  lord  of  many  other  places,  commander  and  grand 
hospitaller  of  our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmel,  was  the 
richest  and  most  powerful  noble  of  his  time  near  Dinan 
when,  on  the  death  of  his  eldest  brother,  he  succeeded 
to  the  family  estates.  He  was  as  gifted  and  as  hand- 
some as  he  was  rich  and  powerful,  and  he  was  univers- 
ally beloved.  He  had  married  a  lovely  and  loveable 
lady, —  Marie  Marguerite  de  la  Motte-Picquet, —  the 
heroine  of  Lady  Stirling-Maxwell's  exquisite  poem  ; 
but,  as  has  been  said,  one  hears  less  in  local  traditions 
of  the  Lady  of  La  Garaye  than  of  her  husband,  though 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  i7s 

it  was  doubtless  the  blight  thrown  on  her  early  married 
life  that  roused  fhis  devoted  pair  from  their  frivolous 
course  of  gaiety  and  self-pleasing. 

Though  the  Chateau  la  Garaye  is  only  a  heap  of 
ruins,  there  are  still  fragments  enough  left  to  show  that 
it  was  a  richly  adorned  building  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  It  must  have  been  a  splendid  abode,  filled, 
as  it  was,  with  every  then  known  luxury,  and  crowded 
with  honoured  guests  who  helped  the  gay,  pleasure- 
loving  pair  to  waste  their  days.  Banquets  and  balls, 
shooting  and  hunting,  and  all  the  other  amusements  of 
the  period,  were  to  be  found  in  perfection  at  La  Garaye ; 
and  the  hunting  train  of  richly  dressed  guests  and 
followers,  splendid  horses  and  dogs,  is  said  to  have 
been  a  grand  sight  to  witness  as  it  issued  from  the 
castle  gates,  and  caracoled  under  the  splendid  beech 
trees.  The  Countess  La  Garaye,  specially  famed  for 
her  grace  and  beauty  of  movement,  was  passionately 
fond  of  hunting,  and  a  most  accomplished  horsewoman, 
and  she  delighted  in  sharing  every  pursuit  of  her  beloved 
lord.  One  day  while  following  the  hounds  with  her 
husband,  she  was  flung  violently  from  her  horse  ;  she 
was  carried  home  insensible,  and  supposed  to  be 
mortally  injured.  Her  life  was,  however,  spared,  and 
Mrs.  Norton  tells  this  part  of  the  story  most  touchingly: 


i?6  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

how  when  sense  returns  to  the  sweet  Lady  of  La  Garaye 

she  hears  the  "grave  physician's"  fiat  that  she  will   be 

"  Crooked  and  sick  for  ever." 

"  Long  on  his  face  her  wistful  gaze  she  kept, 

Then  dropped  her  head  and  wildly  moaned  and  wept, 
Shivering  through  every  limb,  as  lightning  thought 
Smote  her  with  all  the  endless  ruin  wrought. 
Never  to  be  a  mother  !     Never  give 
Another  life  beyond  her  own  to  live, 
Never  to  see  her  husband  bless  their  child, 
Thinking  (dear  blessed  thought)  like  him  it  smiled  : 
Never  again  with  Claud  to  walk  or  ride, 
Partake  his  pleasures  with  a  playful  pride, 
But  cease  from  all  companionship  so  shared, 
And  only  have  the  hours  his  pity  spared. 

And  she-  repeated  with  a  moaning  cry, 

'  Better  to  die,  O  God  ! — Twere  best  to  die.' " 

She  had  lost  all  beauty,  and  the  grace  of  movement 
for  which  she  had  been  so  famed  could  no  longer  be 
exercised.  She  was  now  a  sickly,  crippled  woman, 
sighing  and  sobbing  life  away.  Her  husband  gave  up 
many  of  his  out-door  pursuits  to  sit  beside  her  sick- 
bed, but  all  in  vain  ;  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  de- 
priving him  of  the  joys  in  which  she  could  no  longer 
share,  and  that  soon  he  would  find  the  time  thus  spent 
beside  her  an  irksome  burden  on  his  pleasures.  Try 
as  he  would,  he  could  not  reconcile  the  beloved  sufferer 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  177 

to  submit  to  the  blow  which  had  so  suddenly 
crushed  her  existence  and  left  her  hanging  like  a  broken 
lily  on  its  stalk,  between  life  and  death. 

The  death  of  a  dearly-loved  brother  who  was  visiting 
them  at  Chateau  la  Garaye  threw  a  yet  deeper  gloom 
over  their  saddened  life.  The  Countess  could  not  well 
be  more  grief-stricken  and  despairing  than  she  already 
was,  but  to  Count  Claude  this  fresh  blow  was  over- 
whelming. His  brother's  death  had  left  him  indeed 
alone. 

He  went  to  gaze  for  the  last  time  on  the  face  of 
this  beloved  friend,  and  his  anguish  grew  beyond  all 
control.  The  silence  of  the  priest  who  knelt  beside  the 
dead  man  irritated  the  Count  almost  to  frenzy.  "  Ah, 
father,"  he  exclaimed,  "  how  happy  you  are ;  you  are 
free  from  all  the  shackles  of  earthly  love  ;  you  do  not 
know  the  meaning  of  suffering." 

The  priest  rose  from  his  knees  and  looked  tenderly 
at  the  mourner.  "  You  mistake,  my  son,"  he  said  gently ; 
"  I  love  all  who  suffer,  but  I  submit  to  God's  will,  and 
I  bend  myself  resignedly  to  the  blows  he  deals  me, 
whatever  they  may  be,  because  they  are  dealt  by  Him." 

Monsieur  de  la  Garaye  was  greatly  struck.  Was 
there  then,  he  asked  himself,  less  misery  in  submitting 
to  than  in  murmuring  against  God's  will  ? 


i;8  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

Some  time  after  this,  tradition  says  that  Claude  de 
la  Garaye  had  a  vision  ;  he  dreamed  that  he  came  home 
one  winter's  night  late  from  a  long  day's  hunting.  The 
ground  beneath  the  beech-trees  of  the  great  avenue 
was  covered  with  snow,  and  the  bare  branches  rattled 
in  the  keen  north  wind.  All  at  once  the  Count  saw 
advancing  towards  him  a  white  horseman  surrounded 
with  flames,  flames  too  seemed  to  hover  round  his 
white  steed.  Claude  reined  up  his  horse  and  waited  till 
the  apparition  came  closer  to  him. 

"  Claude  de  la  Garaye,"  it  said,  "  if  you  really  wish 
for  happiness,  you  must  change  your  whole  life.  Give 
up  your  frivolous  pleasures,  and  spend  your  abundant 
riches  in  relieving  the  poor  and  afflicted,  so  shall 
the  blessing  of  God  be  yours  in  this  world  and  in  the 
next.  I,  your  brother,  who  died  so  short  a  time  ago 
in  your  arms,  am  sent  to  give  you  this  warning." 

Claude  la  Garaye  waked  from  his  dream  and  pon- 
dered his  brother's  words,  and  during  that  night  he  is  said 
to  have  made  the  resolution  which  changed  the  whole 
course  of  his  life.  He  told  his  wife  of  the  warning  he 
had  received — she  was  now  to  a  certain  extent  convales- 
cent,— and,  in  spite  of  her  weakness,  she  resolved  to  go 
with  him  to  Paris,  there  to  gain  the  scientific  knowledge 
necessary  for  the  project  they  had  both  determined  to 
carry  out  at  La  Garaye. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  179 

For  three  years  the  Count  carefully  devoted  his 
whole  time  to  the  practical  study  of  medicine,  surgery, 
and  chemistry,  and  made  rapid  progress  therein,  while 
his  weak  and  crippled  wife  studied  ophthalmic  surgery 
at  the  Hotel  Dieu.  So  skilful  did  she  become  that 
she  was  ultimately  most  successful  in  performing  opera- 
tions for  the  removal  of  cataract  at  the  Hospital  of  La 
Garaye. 

The  noble  pair  began  their  studies  in  the  year 
1710,  when  the  Count  de  la  Garaye  was  thirty-six,  and 
at  the  close  of  their  three  years'  noviciate  they  returned 
to  La  Garaye,  and  laid  the  foundations  of  the  large 
range  of  buildings  which  still  exists  on  the  western  side 
of  the  Chateau.  They  gathered  round  them  a  skilful 
band  of  doctors,  surgeons,  and  medical  students,  and 
were  soon  able  to  open  their  hospital  to  the  poor  and 
suffering,  whom  they  tended  themselves  most  devotedly. 

The  fame  of  the  hospital  spread  ;  patients  flocked 
to  it  from  all  parts  of  France.  Louis  XV.  was  so 
touched  by  the  generosity  of  the  La  Garayes,  that  he 
sent  for  the  Count  and  invested  him  with  the  Cross  of 
the  order  of  St.  Lazare,  and  gave  him  75,000  livres. 

It  is  said  that  Monsieur  de  la  Garaye  would  rise 
and  attend  his  patients  at  any  hour  of  the  night.  His 
ordinary  rule  was  to  rise  at  half-past  four  in  summer, 


i8o  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

in  winter  a  little  later,  and  study  in  his  laboratory 
till  seven,  then  to  join  with  his  patients  in  family  prayer  ; 
after  this  he  dressed  the  wounds  of  his  poor  people,  went 
to  hear  mass,  and  then  breakfasted.  After  breakfast 
he  tried  scientific  experiments,  visited  the  hospital  at 
eleven,  presided  at  the  dinner  of  his  patients,  and  when 
they  had  dined  he  took  a  frugal  meal  himself. 

After  dinner  he  talked  to  his  workpeople  and 
labourers,  or  went  out  shooting.  At  four  o'clock  he 
came  home  and  saw  his  patients.  Eight  o'clock  was 
supper-time,  with  religious  reading.  At  half-past  nine 
every  one  went  to  bed,  except  those  who  tended  the 
sick. 

On  Sundays  and  festivals  the  Count  himself  preached 
to  his  guests,  as  he  called  the  poor  sufferers  he  watched 
over. 

The  Countess  seems  to  have  been  not  only  a 
ministering  angel  among  the  patients  whom  she  nursed 
devotedly  by  night  as  well  as  by  day,  but  also  a  saviour 
of  many  souls  whom  she  brought  back  to  the  faith  and 
ordinances  of  their  youth.  The  noble  pair  were  de- 
servedly loved  and  reverenced  by  their  patients  and 
throughout  the  country  round. 

The  Hospital  of  La  Garaye  was  not  the  Count's 
only  good  work.  During  one  very  severe  winter  he  not 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  181 

only  sold  a  great  portion  of  his  plate  to  relieve  the 
general  distress,  but  he  employed  a  great  number  of 
poor  people  whom  the  terrible  famine  that  then  ravaged 
France  had  brought  to  ruin  in  reclaiming  and  cultivat- 
ing vast  wastes  belonging  to  his  estates.  He  also 
founded  at  Dinan  the  Hospital  for  Incurables  which 
still  exists,  and  at  Tardu  a  Convent  for  Charity  School- 
girls. 

In  1720  Marseilles  was  desolated  by  the  plague, — 
hundreds  of  people  died  daily.  When  the  tidings  came 
to  the  ears  of  Monsieur  de  La  Garaye  he  at  once  offered 
his  personal  services  to  the  Archbishop.  But  his 
crowning  act  of  self-devotion,  and  that  which  should 
make  the  name  of  Claude  de  la  Garaye  for  ever  dear  to 
Englishmen,  happened  during  the  war  between  France 
and  Great  Britain  in  1 747.  He  had  been  ready 
enough  to  take  arms,  and  to  arm  his  tenants  and  de- 
pendants, at  the  first  hint  of  foreign  invasion  ;  but  when 
he  heard  that  two  or  three  thousand  English  prisoners 
were  shut  up  in  the  Castle  of  Dinan,  and  that  the 
prison  was  so  overcrowded,  and  the  captives  so 
neglected,  that  a  malignant  fever  had  broken  out, 
Monsieur  La  Garaye  did  not  shrink  from  the  danger, 
although  the  fever  had  destroyed  not  only  many  of  the 
unhappy  English,  but  the  doctors  and  nuns  who  tended 


182  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

them.  He  came  at  once  to  Dinan,  and  by  his  skill  and 
timely  succour  saved  many  lives.  The  English  seem 
to  have  been  much  impressed  by  his  benevolence.  One 
nobleman  presented  him  with  six  thorough-bred  dogs, 
and  Queen  Anne  (the  French  biographer  must  mean 
Queen  Caroline)  sent  him  two  others,  each  wearing  a 
silver  collar. 

The  Count  of  La  Garaye  went  on  with  his  work 
till  he  was  eighty  years  old,  and  then  died  sitting  in  his 
arm-chair — died  peacefully  as  he  had  lived,  without 
apparent  suffering.  He  and  his  wife  both  lie  buried 
in  the  little  graveyard  at  Tardu,  their  graves  being 
marked  by  very  simple  tombs  against  the  wall  of  the 
village  church.  The  Count's  has  this  inscription  : — 

Cy  gitte  corps, 
de  Messire  Claude  T.oussaints  Marot, 

Chevalier,  Comte  de  la  Garaye, 
D£ce"de"  le  2  Juillet,  en  son  chateau, 

1755- 


FROM  NORM  A  A' DY  AND  BRITTANY.  183 


CHAPTER   IX. 

DDL— A  LEGEND  OF  ST.  CHRISTOPHER— THE  OLD  WOMAN'S  COW 
—  THE  HOME  OF  CHATEAUBRIAND  — CHATEAU  COMBOURG  — 
VITRE. 

IF  for  no  other  cause,  the  town  of  Dol  must  always 
dwell  pleasantly  in  the  minds  of  the  authors  of  this 
book  in  connection  with  a  certain  huge  fig-tree  in  the 
garden  of  its  Inn  of  Notre  Dame.  The  weather  was 
hot,  and  the  ripe  excellent  fruit  most  refreshing  ;  and 
at  going  away  the  kind  landlady  presented  us  with  a 
dainty  basketful  packed  in  glorious  leaves,  the  contents 
of  which  proved  most  grateful  on  the  journey. 

But  Dol  is  a  quaint  and  interesting  town,  and  has 
a  very  fine  cathedral,  older  and  in  purer  style  than  most 
Breton  churches  ;  and  besides  it  has  a  special  attraction 
to  the  traveller  about  to  enter  Normandy.  From  the 
summit  of  Mont  Dol,  a  little  way  out  of  the  town,  can 
be  seen  through  a  glass  the  famous  Mont  S.  Michel. 

Dol  seems  to  form  a  connecting  link  between  Nor- 
mandy and  Brittany.  The  bridge,  with  its  groups  of 
ancient  houses,  is  a  very  picturesque  object ;  the  water 


184 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


below  is  generally  gay  with  knots  of  quaintly  capped 
women — for  the  caps  of  Dol  are  some  of  the  most 
remarkable  in  Brittany — washing  brilliant  bunches  of 
carrots  and  turnips  in  the  swiftly  flowing  water. 


OLD    HOUSES,    UOI., 


The  legend  of  St.  Christopher  goes   back   to   the 
days  before  this  bridge  was  built. 


SL 


of  &t, 


"  Christopher  the  strong-shouldered  "  was  in  great 
request  as  a  ferryman,  and  at  the  time  I  write  of  he 
kept  the  ford  ol  the  river,  and  carried  many  burdens 
over  it. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  185 

One  fine  day,  the  legend  says,  our  Blessed  Lord 
arrived  at  the  ford  with  his  twelve  apostles.  Christo- 
pher took  first  our  Lord  and  then  each  of  his  followers, 
one  alter  another,  in  his  gigantic  arms,  and  carried  them 
across  to  the  farther  bank  of  the  river. 

Our  Lord  bade  Christopher  name  his  reward. 

St.  Peter  came  up  and  whispered  softly  in  his  ear, 
"  Ask  for  Paradise,  and  you  will  be  happy." 

"  Mind  your  own  business,"  said  Christopher  in  a 
surly  tone  ;  then  to  our  Lord  he  said  reverently,  "  As 
you  offer  me  a  gift,  O  Lord,  I  ask  that  whatsoever  I 
wish  for  may  come  into  my  sack." 

Our  Lord  consented  ;  but  he  told  Christopher  never 
to  wish  for  money,  or  for  anything  he  did  not  really 
need. 

Time  went  on.  Christopher  kept  to  his  bargain, 
and  the  sack  was  only  filled  with  bread,  fruit,  and 
vegetables,  and,  be  it  said  in  justice  to  the  ferryman,  it 
was  frequently  emptied  to  give  to  the  poor.  But  after 
a  while  Christopher  fell  into  temptation. 

It  happened  one  day  that  as  he  was  passing  along 
the  main  street  of  Dol,  he  stopped  before  the  shop  of 
a  money-changer,  where  piles  of  gold  and  silver  coin 
were  arranged  in  little  heaps. 

Now  Christopher  sinned  in  gazing  at  the  money, 


1 86  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

for  it  is  a  step  towards  covetousness  to  gaze  on  that 
which  we  are  forbidden.  Eve,  you  know,  looked  at 
the  apple  before  she  touched  it.  The  Evil  One  was 
close  at  hand,  and  he  began  to  whisper  in  Christopher's 
ear,  "  See  here,  my  fine  fellow,  think  how  much 
good  you  may  do  to  others  with  all  this  gold  and 
silver ;  why,  you  can  build  houses  for  the  poor,  and 
clothe  them  and  feed  them  besides  ;  think  of  that,  my 
friend.  Now  you  have  only  to  wish,  and  the  money  is 
yours." 

The  idea  was  too  tempting  to  resist ;  Christopher 
wished,  and  lo  !  there  was  the  money  in  his  sack.  You 
must  remember  that,  though  he  was  good,  he  was  only 
a  man  after  all,  he  was  not  even  a  saint  in  those  days. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  this  first  yielding  to 
temptation  was  followed  by  other  yieldings,  and  though 
he  was  liberal  he  did  not  spend  on  the  poor  all  the 
money  that  had  come  into  his  sack. 

One  day  he  had  eaten  a  luxurious  dinner,  and  had 
lain  down  on  the  grass  to  rest  in  the  shade. 

Presently  who  should  pass  by  but  the  Evil  One,  who 
began  to  mock  and  gibe  at  Christopher. 

The  giant  was  not  of  a  patient  disposition,  and 
before  long  he  and  the  mocking  fiend  were  fighting  out 
their  dispute  ;  their  strength  was  so  fairly  matched  that 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  187 

the  battle  lasted  two  days  without  any  chance  of  a 
victory  on  either  side.  The  thick  grass  was  worn  away, 
and  the  ground  dinted  by  the  pressure  of  their  feet,  and 
the  blows  they  dealt  one  another  sounded  like  repeated 
hammer-strokes,  and  were  heard  from  afar. 

They  might  indeed  be  fighting  still  if  a  lucky 
thought  had  not  come  to  Christopher. 

"Ah,  cursed  one!"  he  exclaimed,  "in  the  name 
of  the  most  Holy,  get  into  my  sack." 

No  sooner  said  than  behold  the  Evil  One  is  in  the 
sack,  and  Christopher,  tying  the  string  round  its  mouth, 
throws  it  over  his  shoulders. 

But  now  what  shall  he  do  with  the  prisoner  ? 

Going  along  the  road  he  comes  to  a  smithy  where 
a  blacksmith  and  two  brawny  assistants  are  beating  out 
red-hot  iron. 

"  Happy  thought,"  says  Christopher  to  himself ;  to 
the  blacksmith  he  says — 

"  See  here,  neighbour,  I  carry  a  dangerous  beast  in 
this  sack,  he  has  done  all  sorts  of  mischief ;  if  you  will 
undertake  to  hammer  him  as  thin  as  a  penny  piece,  I 
will  give  you  a  crown." 

"A  bargain,"  cries  the  blacksmith,  and  he  and 
Christopher  clasp  palms  upon  it. 

The  blacksmith  and  his  men  hoist  the  sack  on  to 


188  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

the  anvil,  and,  spite  of  the  howls  and  contortions  of  its 
inmate,  they  hammer  at  him  all  through  the  night. 

At  length,  when  day  begins  to  break,  a  feeble  voice 
comes  from  the  sack. 

"  Christopher,  Christopher,  I  give  in,  I  am  beaten  ; 
on  what  terms  will  you  let  me  out  ?" 

"  You  must  swear  to  obey  me  whenever  I  require 
you  to  do  so,  and  leave  me  in  peace  for  evermore 

"  I  swear,"  says  the  feeble  voice. 

"  Depart,"  says  Christopher,  "  and  may  I  never  more 
behold  thee." 

From  this  time  Christopher's  whole  life  changed. 
He  gave  himself  up  to  good  works,  and  when  his 
strength  failed  him,  so  that  he  could  no  longer  perform 
his  duty  at  the  ford,  he  took  refuge  in  a  little  cell,  on 
the  ruins  of  which  were  built  a  church  dedicated  to  St. 
Christopher.  He  lived  many  years  in  his  cell,  given  up 
to  prayer  and  penance,  his  saintly  reputation  causing 
the  hermitage  to  be  the  resort  of  numerous  pilgrims. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  when,  after  his  death,  St. 
Christopher  presented  himself  at  the  gates  of  Paradise, 
St.  Peter,  remembering  how  his  advice  had  been  slighted, 
refused  Christopher  admittance. 

The  poor  saint  went  sadly  away,  hanging  his  head, 


FROM  NORM  A  ND  Y  A  ND  BRITTA  N  Y.  1 89 

and,  not  taking  any  heed  where  he  trod,  he  went  by 
mistake  down  the  broad  steps  of  hell. 

He  went  down  and  down  a  great  many  steps,  and 
came  at  last  to  a  door  kept  by  a  pleasant-looking  youth. 

"  Come  in,  I  pray  you,"  said  the  youth. 

Christopher  was  stepping  across  the  threshold  when 
his  old  adversary,  who  stood  just  within,  perceived  him. 

"  No,  no  !"  he  cried,  "  we  will  have  none  of  him.  I 
know  who  he  is  ;  turn  him  out ;  he  is  more  than  a  match 
for  me." 

So  poor  Christopher  was  forced  to  go  up  again, 
and  once  more  he  found  himself  at  the  gates  of 
Paradise.  Strains  of  lovely  music  came  from  within,  and 
the  saint  sought  more  than  ever  to  enter  and  be  with 
the  blessed. 

He  went  close  up  to  the  gates.  "  My  Lord  Peter," 
he  said,  "  what  wondrous  music  you  have  inside  your 
gates — I  pray  you  of  your  charity  to  leave  them  ajar,  so 
that  a  poor  outsider  may  enjoy  these  exquisite  sounds." 

Saint  Peter's  tender  heart  was  touched,  he  opened 
the  gate  a  few  inches.  Christopher  dexterously  flings 
his  sack  inside  the  gates,  and,  following  it,  he  seats  him- 
self thereon. 

"  I  am  on  my  own  ground  now,"  he  says  ;  "  you 
cannot  turn  me  out." 


1 90  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

And  Saint  Christopher  has  stayed  in  heaven  ever 
since.  Surely  his  repentance  has  earned  him  a  good 
place  there. 

The  following  is  another  quaint  legend  of  Dol  : — 


(Lflloman'0  Ccto* 


ONCE  upon  a  time  St.  Peter  and  St.  John  were  taking  a 
journey  through  Brittany.  They  visited  every  house  they 
came  near,  rich  as  well  as  poor  ;  they  preached  in  the 
churches  and  chapels  of  the  towns  they  passed 
through,  and  sometimes  they  preached  in  the  market- 
place in  the  presence  of  all  the  townsfolk. 

One  spring  day  they  climbed  a  long  and  steep  hill. 
The  sun  was  hot,  and  they  were  thirsty,  and  there  was 
not  a  drop  of  water  to  be  seen.  St.  Peter  was  the 
most  sanguine  nature  of  the  two.  "  We  shall  find  a 
house  on  the  top  of  the  hill,"  he  said. 

When  they  reached  the  top  they  saw  a  farm-house 
sheltered  among  some  trees. 

i%  Let  us  go  in  and  ask  for  some  water  here,"  said 
Saint  Peter,  and  in  they  went. 

A  little  old  woman  sat  beside  the  hearthstone,  and 
not  far  off  a  little  child  lay  sucking  a  goat. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  191 

"  Grandmother,"  said  St.  Peter,  "  will  you  be  so  kind 
as  to  give  us  a  little  water?" 

"  Yes,  surely,  good  gentlemen,"  she  answered 
readily.  "  I  have  plenty  of  water,  good  water  too,  but 
I  have  nothing  else  in  the  world." 

She  filled  a  bowl  with  water  from  her  pitcher  and 
gave  it  to  the  saints  to  drink. 

They  drank  eagerly,  and  then  they  looked  at  the 
sucking  infant. 

"  That  is  not  your  child,  grandmother,"  said  St.  Peter. 

"  No,  surely  not,  but  I  love  him  as  though  he  were 
my  own.  My  daughter  died  in  giving  him  birth,  and 
I  have  to  take  care  of  him." 

"  Has  he  a  father?" 

"  Oh  yes,  he  has  a  father  who  goes  out  to  work 
every  day  at  a  gentleman's  house  not  far  off;  he  gets 
his  food  and  eight  sous  a  day,  and  that  is  all  we  have 
to  live  on.  When  my  husband  was  alive  things  were 
different  ;  he  was  a  farmer,  and  we  had  cows  and  pigs, 
but  all  are  gone  now." 

"  Suppose  you  had  a  cow  now,"  said  St.  Peter. 

"  Ah  !  indeed,  good  gentleman,  suppose  we  had,  we 
should  be  happy  enough.  Though  we  have  no  longer 
any  land  I  could  take  the  cow  out  and  let  it  feed  along 
the  roads,  and  we  should  have  milk  and  butter  to  sell  on 


192  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

market  day.  But  what  is  the  use  of  supposing  ;  I  shall 
never  have  a  cow  again." 

"Never  you  mind,  grandmother,  lend  me  your  stick 
a  minute,"  said  St.  Peter. 

St.  Peter  took  the  old  woman's  stick  and  struck  a 
blow  on  the  broad  hearthstone,  and  behold,  there  was  a 
beautiful  strawberry  cow  with  udders  full  of  milk. 

"Holy  Virgin!"  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  "how- 
ever did  that  cow  get  here  ?" 

"  By  the  grace  of  God,  grandmother  ;  it  is  for  you." 

"  May  the  blessing  of  God  rest  on  you,  good 
gentlemen.  I  will  pray  for  you  night  and  day." 

"  God  be  with  you,"  said  the  saints  ;  and  they  went 
on  their  way,  leaving  the  old  woman  lost  in  wonder 
as  she  gazed  at  her  cow. 

The  cow  gently  lowed. 

"What  a  fine  creature!"  she  said,  "and  how  full 
she  is  of  milk.  I  must  milk  her.  But  where  can  she 
have  come  from  ?  Just  from  hitting  a  stick  on  the 
hearth-stone  ;  nothing  can  be  easier  than  that.  Well, 
here  is  my  stick,  and  there's  the  hearth-stone.  Ah,  if 
I  had  only  just  such  another  cow  !  I  wonder  if  I  could 
bring  one  by  just  hitting  my  stick  on  the  stone." 

No  sooner  said  than  done,  and  behold  out  sprang 
an  enormous  wolf,  which  fastened  on  the  cow  and 
killed  her. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  193 

Out  ran  the  old  woman — she  hurried  as  fast  as  her 
legs  would  carry  her  after  the  two  saints. 

"  Gentlemen  !  gentlemen  !  "  she  cried,  quite  out  of 
breath.  As  the  saints  had  walked  slowly  on  account 
of  the  heat  they  had  not  got  very  far  ;  they  heard  her 
calling  and  waited  till  she  came  up. 

"Whatever  has  happened,  grandmother  ?"  said  St. 
Peter. 

"  Alas,  gentlemen,  my  cow,  my  cow !  You  had 
hardly  left  me  when  in  came  a  huge  wolf  and  sprang 
upon  my  beautiful  strawberry  cow." 

"  But  what  had  you  done  first,  good  mother  ?"  said 
St.  John  very  gently. 

"  I — I  hit  my  stick  on  the  hearth-stone,"  said  the 
old  woman,  hanging  her  head. 

"  The  wolf  came  because  you  summoned  it,"  said 
St.  Peter  gravely.  "  Go  back  to  your  house,  and  you 
will  find  your  cow  safe  and  sound.  But,  grandmother, 
be  wiser  in  future,  and  be  content  with  what  God  sends 
you." 

Back  went  the  old  woman  to  her  house,  and  found 
her  cow  safe  and  well,  lowing  softly  for  she  wanted  to 
be  milked  ;  and  then  the  dame  understood  that  God's 
saints  had  visited  her. 


194  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


Cljateau 

A  VERY  short  railway  journey  from  Dol  brought  us  to 
the  small  but  picturesque  town  of  Combourg.  It  has 
an  old-world  aspect,  as  the  greater  part  of  the  houses 
are  of  the  sixteenth  century. 

But  the  most  interesting  building  there  is  the 
castle,  in  which  Chateaubriand,  the  famous  author, 
spent  some  of  his  boyhood — the  castle  still  belongs  to 
his  family — and  his  chamber  is  preserved  in  the  state 
it  was  in  when  he  lived  at  Combourg.  It  is  in  one  of 
the  towers,  and  hither  has  been  brought  the  simple 
furniture  which  was  in  his  room  at  Paris  during  the 
latter  part  of  his  life.  A  small  iron  bedstead,  an 
ordinary  wooden  table,  an  iron  inkstand,  an  iron  cruci- 
fix, and  an  iron  holy  water  stoup.  Chateaubriand  gives 
a  too  highly-coloured  picture  of  his  home  in  his 
Memoires.  He  calls  it  an  immense  castle,  which  would 
accommodate  with  ease  IOO  knights  and  their  attend- 
ants ;  a  third  of  this  number  would  be  more  like  the 
truth. 

The  castle,  dating  from  the  fifteenth  century,  is  a 
square  building  flanked  by  four  large  machicolated 
towers  ;  that  at  the  north-east  angle  is  higher  than  the 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  195 

others  (Chateaubriand  called  it  "  tour  de  Maure"),  and 
it  appears  to  belong  to  the  fourteenth  century. 

The  castle,  with  its  many  towers,  with  their  conical 
roofs  rising  above  the  surrounding  trees  and  ancient 
houses,  is  very  picturesque.  Chateau  Combourg  sug- 
gested to  the  poet  the  lines  beginning — 

"  Combien  j'ai  douce  souvenance 
Du  joli  lieu  de  ma  naissance." 

Chateaubriand  was  really  born  in  St.  Malo,  Rue  des 
Juifs,  in  the  house  which  is  now  the  Hotel  de  France. 
From  the  window  of  the  room  the  tomb  of  the 
illustrious  author  can  be  seen  standing  alone  on  the 
islet  called  Grand  Bey.  It  was  his  own  desire  to  be 
buried  in  that  lonely  spot.  The  position  of  the  tomb, 
on  the  rocky  verge  of  the  islet  overlooking  the  vast 
expanse  of  ocean,  is  very  impressive. 

We  were  sorry  to  reach  Vitre,  for  it  was  the  last 
interesting  town  in  Brittany,  and  we  felt  that  our  holiday 
was  over.  It  is  a  wonderfully  old-world  town.  Modern 
improvements,  which  will  doubtless  soon  set  in  in  a 
flood,  are  only  beginning  there.  Its  castle,  its  feudal 
ramparts  flanked  by  towers,  its  old  houses  which  seem 
to  totter  on  their  supporting  pillars — have  a  truly 
mediaeval  air.  There  is  something  inexpressibly 


196  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

pathetic  about  its  aspect — pathetic  and  grotesque  also, 
for  it  looks  full  of  strange  stories — moss  and  lichen 
thrive  on  its  roofs  and  stonework  ;  it  seems  to  be  per- 
petually moaning  over  its  past.  Though  it  is  nearer 


OLD   SHOPS,    V1TRE. 

France  than  the  utterly  French  city  of  Rennes,  Vitre 
is  a  true  type  of  an  old  Breton  town.  Its  streets  are 
narrow  and  twisting,  and  up  and  down,  and  badly 
paved  also  ;  the  houses  are  some  of  wood,  with  often 
quaintly  carved  beams,  and  some  of  stone  ;  in  many 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  197 

of  them  the  upper  story  projects  considerably,  and  is 
supported  on  oaken  pillars  covered  with  slate.  The 
Rue  Poterie  is  the  quaintest  and  strangest  of  these 
streets.  Here  one  can  go  back  to  the  middle  ages  ; 
one  fancies  even  that  the  open  shops,  shown  in  the 
illustration,  are  scarcely  changed  from  what  they  were 
in  the  sixteenth  century,  or  in  the  days  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne*.  The  chief  inn  in  the  town  is  called 
Hotel  de  Sevign6,  and  here  you  see  a  suite  of  rooms 
which  Madame  de  Sevigne  is  said  to  have  occupied  ; 
on  the  tiles  of  the  flooring  are  various  crests,  which  it 
seems  she  had  a  fancy  for  collecting.  In  one  of  these 
rooms  is  a  secret  sliding  panel,  with  a  recess  behind  it ; 
here  one  fancies  she  may  have  kept  secret  papers,  or 
the  letters  of  Pauline. 

The  castle  is  equally  picturesque  and  interesting. 
It  was  founded  about  the  end  of  the  eleventh  century, 
and  rebuilt  in  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  ;  the  walls 
are  covered  with  slate.  Standing  on  a  hill  it  com- 
mands the  surrounding  country,  and  must  have  been 
a  strong  fortress.  The  initals  of  Guyonne,  Countess  of 
Laval  and  Marquise  de  Nesle,  occur  frequently  here, 
in  the  monogram,  G.  L.  N.,  on  the  entablature  of  the 
charming  little  tourelle  which  she  built  here  in  1560; 
on  each  side  are  shields  bearing  the  arms  of  France 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


and  of  Laval,  with'  the  motto,  "  Post  tenebras  spero 
lucem."  She  was  a  Huguenot,  and  the  inscription  "is 
supposed  to  be  in  allusion  to  the  darkness  of  the  old 
religion  as  compared  with  the  faith  of  the  Reformers." 

There  is  a  very  quaintly  sculptured  stone  pulpit 
outside  the  church  of  Notre  Dame  ;  on  this  grotesque 
figures  of  demons  express,  by  face  and  gesture,  great 
dislike  to  the  doctrines  preached  above  them. 

Les  Rochers,  the  charming  country-house  from 
which  so  many  of  Madame  de  Sevigne's  letters  are 
dated,  is  within  an  easy  drive  of  Vitre.  Madame  de 
Sevigne's  bedroom  has  been  left  untouched,  there  is 
her  bed  of  red  and  white  silk  falling  to  pieces  with 
age,  and  there  is  the  escritoire  on  which  her  delight- 
ful letters  were  written,  —  her  account-books  still  lie 
on  it  Outside  the  drawing-room  windows  is  a  long 
range  of  orange  trees  in  tubs,  and  two  of  these  are  said 
to  have  been  planted  by  Madame  de  Sevigne  herself. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  199 


CHAPTER  X. 

AVRANCHES— A  BRACE  OF  CHARACTERS— THE  STORY  OF  THE 
"PILGRIMAGE  TO  THE  MOUNT." 

WE  had  been  spending  some  delightful  weeks  in  Nor- 
mandy, beginning  at  Etretat,  and  then  journeying  along 
the  sea-board,  with  its  groups  of  watering-places,  so 
dear  in  August  to  tired  Parisians,  till  we  reached  quiet 
primitive  Arromanches.  We  made  a  pleasant  halt  in 
this  newly  built  village,  with  its  old  world  inhabitants 
— its  magnificent  sun-flowers  making  a  foreground  with 
their  immense  bronze  disks,  to  the  masts  and  rigging  of 
the  fishing-boats  drawn  up  high  and  dry  on  the  beach, 
and  the  belt  of  blue  sea  beyond  ;  but  we  could  not 
linger  long  ;  we  were  impatient  to  reach  the  real  bourne 
of  our  journey — the  wonderful  Mont  St.  Michel.  So 
on  we  went  from  Bayeux,  through  lofty  St.  Lo,  Cou- 
tances,  with  its  grand  cathedral  and  charming  gardens, 
beautiful,  dirty,  and  unsavoury  Granville,  till  we  found 
ourselves  at  last  at  pretty,  bright,  sunshiny  Avranches,  so 
exquisite  in  its  position  and  surroundings  and  the  view  it 
commands,  and  yet  in  itself  so  tame  and  uninteresting. 


200  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

We  found  the  sparkling  clean  little  place  full  of 
bustle  ;  all  the  inns  were  crammed,  and  when  we  made 
inquiry  we  learned  that  this  concourse  of  visitors  had 
been  caused  "by  the  pilgrimage. 

"  What  pilgrimage  ? "  we  asked  our  voluble  femme- 
de-chambre,  who,  having  once  been  a  beauty,  expected 
a  good  deal  of  notice  still  from  those  she  waited  on. 

"Comment!"  she  exclaimed,  "is  it  possible  that 
Madame  does  not  know  of  the  great  pilgrimage  to 
Mont  S.  Michel — pilgrims  come  to  it  from  all  parts  ; 
what  do  I  know — from  Jersey,  Guernsey  also — from 
England  perhaps,"  she  added,  "  if,"  with  a  sly  look, 
"  there  are  any  good  Catholics  in  Madame's  country." 

We  asked  how  long  the  pilgrimage  would  last. 

"  Oh,  that  depends  ;  three  or  four  days  if  all  the 
pilgrims  arrive  in  that  time,  but  to-morrow  is  the 
grand  day  ;  ah,  that  will  be  a  sight  to  see  ;  the  Bishop  of 
Coutances  himself  will  say  a  mass,  and  he  will  perform 
the  benediction  service  in  the  crypt  of  the  Gros  Piliers  : 
Madame  knows  that  the  black  Virgin  is  there,  and 
that  is  why  It  is  called  the  Chapel  of  Notre  Dame- 
sous-terre.  Ah  !"  she  put  both  hands  suddenly  to  her 
ears,  and  then  extending  her  arms  shook  her  fingers,  "do 
but  hear  the  bells,  Madame.  Ah,  Mon  Dieu  !  I  must 
run,  if  Madame  will  have  the  goodness  to  excuse  me." 


I' ROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  201 

This  news  put  us  into  a  pleasant  state  of  excite- 
ment ;  we  should  have  preferred  to  see  the  Mount  in 
its  weird  lonely  grandeur,  still  there  was  something 
very  fitting  in  the  idea  of  a  pilgrimage  to  Mont  S. 
Michel,  and  we  determined  to  go  there  to-morrow. 

We  went  to  order  a  carriage  in  the  town,  but  the 
driver  was  out,  and  we  were  left  in  doubt,  for  it  seemed 
that  every  vehicle  and  every  horse  in  Avranches  was 
going  on  pilgrimage  next  day. 

We  came  in  and  dined  at  our  comfortable,  but  not 
too  liberal,  table  d'hote,  and  then  mounted  to  the  bed- 
room at  the  tip-top  of  the  house,  which  our  friend 
Rosalie,  the  coquettish  and  communicative  femme-de- 
chambre,  told  us  we  were  very  lucky  to  get. 

We  had  hardly  seated  ourselves  when  a  knock 
came  at  the  door,  and  a  strange  man's  voice  inquired 
if  Monsieur  and  Madame  les  Anglais  lived  here. 

This  was  our  driver,  a  little  crooked  fellow  with  a 
most  comical  face  ;  he  seemed  to  be  laughing  at  himself; 
he  began  by  asking  just  half  as  much  again  as  he 
meant  to  take,  but  we  shook  our  heads ;  he  then 
grumbled  extremely  at  having  to  carry  two  people 
with  one  horse,  while  we  assured  him  we  could  not 
think  of  paying  the  price  he  asked  for  two. 

At  last  he  stood  still  and  scratched  his  head  for 


202  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

some  seconds  without  speaking — then  he  shrugged   his 
shoulders  and  exhibited  the  palms  of  both  hands. 

"  So  be  it,"  he  said  ;  "  I  will  take  Monsieur's  price. 
The  pilgrimage  is  like  everything  else — it  is  not  what 
it  was  at  first — why,  the  last  pilgrimage  to  Mont  St. 
Michel,  ah,  Mon  Dieu  !" — up  went  his  shoulders  again 
— "  that,  if  you  please,  was  something  like.  At  Pon- 
torson,  there  were  not  beds  enough  to  lie  on ;  the  pilgrims 
slept  in  sheds — on  pavements — anywhere.  I  drove  a 
cart  full  of  pilgrims  across  the  sands;  ah,  yes!  1 
remember  there  was  a  story  told  of  one  of  them  next 
day,  poor  soul." 

"  Can  you  tell  us  the  story  ?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  our  eagerness,  and 
shook  his  head. 

"  I  knew  it,  bah  !" — he  began  to  think,  screwing  up 
his  little  eyes,  and  making  his  comic  face  so  absurd  that 
we  could  scarcely  keep  serious. 

"  I  knew  it."  he  repeated — then  he  slapped  his  leg 
joyfully.      "  Ma  foi,  my  wife  knows  every  word  of  it, — 
she  never  forgets  a  story, — and  if  Madame  likes  I  will 
go  home  and  listen,  and  then  to-morrow  I  shall  be  able 
to  tell  it  as  glibly  as  any  old   chatterer  in  the  country.'' 

And  next  day  he  certainly  whiled  away  part  of 
the  long  drive  from  Avranches  by  telling  us  the  story 
of  the  "  Pilgrimage  to  the  Mount." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY. 


Si  ^ilffcimap  to  t&e 
PART  I. 

MOTHER  AND  SON. 

IT  is  Michaelmas,  and  the  streets  of  a  gray  old  cathe- 
dral city  in  France  are  busy  with  the  tread  of  feet  and 
the  buzz  of  voices  as  the  inhabitants  take  their  way  to 
High  Mass  —  some  to  the  cathedral  and  some  to  the 
numerous  old  churches  of  the  town.  Overhead  the 
weather  is  fine  ;  there  are  only  a  few  snowy  wool-like 
clouds,  but  these  are  so  bright,  and  they  keep  their 
places  so  firmly  on  the  blue  vault  above,  that  there  is 
no  fear  of  rain.  A  crisp  wind  scatters  the  dust  briskly 
along  the  Boulevards,  and  whirls  the  yellow  leaves  off  as 
if  the  year  were  a  month  older.  There  is  a  sighing 
movement,  too,  every  now  and  then,  among  these  trees, 
which  seems  to  tell  that  the  leaves  are  conscious  that 
the  best  part  of  their  life  is  spent,  that  old  age,  with 
feeble  heart-beats  and  sapless  limbs,  is  near,  and  death 
treading  on  its  heels. 

The  Boulevard  will  be  full  enough  this  afternoon, 
but  no  one  stays  there  now.  Every  one  is  going  to 
Mass,  though  it  is  yet  early  ;  but  to  get  a  seat  in  the 
cathedral  one  must  be  early  to-day,  for  Monseigneur 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


the  Archbishop  is  going  to  preach  ;  so  the  little  square 
outside  the  splendid  hoary  building  is  full  of  towns- 
people. 


TORCH    OF    CATHEDRAL,    CHARTRES. 


The  small  houses  which  face  the  cathedral  are  very 
near  it — so  near  it  that  they  are  always  in  a  cool  grey 
shadow.  The  door  of  one  of  the  smallest  of  these 
houses  stands  open,  and  shows  inside  a  dark  narrow 


f 
FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  205 

passage,  with  a  black  door  on  one  side,  and  a  staircase 
beyond.  A  small  slender  woman  stands  at  the  foot  of 
the  staircase  ;  she  has  a  young  slight  figure,  and  she  is 
dressed  with  much  simplicity  and  neatness.  Just  now 
her  snowy  capped  head  is  thrown  back  on  her  shoulders, 
as  she  stands  calling  to  some  one  overhead  : 

"  Eustache,  my  child,  come  quickly,  or  you  will  be 
too  late." 

"  I  come,  my  mother,"  is  answered  in  such  a  sweet 
silver  treble  that  it  takes  one  by  surprise, — a  surprise 
which  anticipates  the  sweet  boyish  face  of  the  golden- 
haired  child  who  comes  carefully  downstairs,  not  taking 
half  a  flight  at  a  jump,  as  would  seem  better  suited  to 
his  age,  but  with  an  enforced  quietude  that  does  not 
belong  to  his  bright  eyes  and  expressive  features.  He 
holds  up  one  slight  finger  at  his  mother,  and  makes  a 
slight  sound  with  his  mouth  ;  then  he  takes  her  hand 
and  draws  her  quietly  to  the  entrance  door.  She  has 
so  sweet  a  face,  but  yet  she  is  not  like  her  child,  not 
even  when  she  smiles  down  into  his  dark  eyes.  His 
face  is  square  both  at  brow  and  chin,  and  one  feels  by 
instinct  that  though  those  dark  eyes  may  always  be 
sweet  in  expression,  yet  there  is  a  promise  of  intellect 
in  them  which  will  make  him  yet  more  unlike  his 
mother ;  for  hers  is  a  flower-like  face,  a  delicate  skin 


206  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

with  a  tinge  of  pink  colour,  yet  touched  with  the  soft 
melancholy  of  a  Madonna — oval  in  its  outline,  with 
small  and  regular,  not  insignificant,  features,  and  eyes 
of  the  palest  blue  ;  these  eyes  glisten,  and  the  glow 
blooms  brightly  on  her  cheeks  as  she  listens  to  her  boy. 

He  speaks  eagerly  now  that  he  has  reached  the 
outside  door. 

"  Never  fear,  little  mother," — he  pats  her  hand 
fondly  between  both  his  own  ;  "  I  shall  be  as  punctual 
as  the  rest.  I  said  '  Hush  just  now  because  of  Julie  ; 
— but  indeed  she  is  better  to-day  ;  and  when  I  told  her 
I  had  warmed  the  soup  myself,  she  said  it  was  twice  as 
good,  and  now  she  is  sleepy,  mother ;  and  when  I  pat 
her  shoulder  softly,  she  shuts  her  eyes  and  opens  her 
mouth, — yes,  yes  " — he  screws  up  his  own  rosy  mouth 
importantly — "Julie  will  sleep  and  she  will  get  well. 
Aliens,  I  must  go  to  church  :"  then  stopping  suddenly, 
he  looks  up  with  a  grave  face  :  "  Mother,"  he  says, 
"how  enormous  is  the  mouth  of  Julie  !" 

A  little  later  his  mother  watches  him  as  he  walks 
in  procession,  the  fairest  of  the  choir  children,  his  lovely 
treble  notes  ringing  through  the  lofty  aisles  of  the 
cathedral.  He  does  not  see  her  as  she  kneels  behind 
one  of  the  massive  piers,  and  gazes  with  tenderest  love 
on  his  rapt  face  while  he  sings. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  207 

How  fervently  she  prays  for  her  Eustache, —  he  has 
elected  to  become  a  doctor ;  for,  child  as  he  is,  he  so 
loves  to  tend  the  sick,  and  his  mother  prays  that  the 
studies  he  will  have  to  follow  if  he  adopts  this  voca- 
tion may  not  harden  his  heart.  She  prays,  too, — and 
all  unconsciously  tears  stream  over  her  sweet  face — 
that  he  may  never  lose  his  love  and  reverence  for  holy 
things  and  holy  places,  a  love  which  she  has  taught  him 
by  word  and  deed.  "  Oh  my  God,"  she  prays,  "  spare 
me  such  bitter  pain  as  this." 

For  to  Marie  Texier's  simplicity  it  seems  that  the 
worst  trial  she  could  be  called  on  to  suffer  would  be  to 
see  her  Eustache's  love  and  faith  grow  coki 

"  If  he  forgot  to  worship,  it  would  be  worse  than 
losing  Jean  Baptiste  over  again,"  she  thinks.  Jean 
Baptiste  was  the  tenderly-loved  husband  of  her  youth, 
who  died  when  Eustache  was  but  five  years  old,  so  she 
prays  with  all  her  strength  for  this  dearly-loved  child. 

But  service  is  over  now,  and  she  hurries  home  to 
get  his  meal  ready  for  Eustache. 

She  has  quite  a  little  feast  for  him  to-day.  Soup 
and  some  mussels,  pieds  de  cochon  and  radishes, 
daintily  arranged  on  a  fine  white  tablecloth. 

Eustache  soon  comes  out  of  church,  and  flies  across 
the  street,  his  dark  eyes  glowing  with  delight. 


208  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

He  kisses  his  mother,  and  then  says  grace  reve- 
rently, and  sits  down  and  eats  his  soup  in  hungry 
silence,  but  when  he  gets  to  his  second  mussel  he 
pauses,  and  looks  anxiously  across  the  table. 

"  Mother,  what  do  you  think  ?  Father  Clery  has 
said  that  my  voice  is  a  good  one." 

Madame  Texier  smiles. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  child  ;  your  voice  is  true  and  sweet, 
but,"  she  adds  humbly,  "  I  am  thankful  that  the  good 
father  should  think  so." 

Eustache  gives  his  mother  a  long  yearning  look, 
and  then  he  goes  on  eating  his  mussels. 

His  young  mind  is  burdened  with  a  new  idea,  and 
it  is  too  large  a  one  for  him  to  carry  alone.  He  would 
share  it  with  Madame  le  Camac  upstairs  if  it  were 
less  important,  but  it  seems  to  him  a  kind  of  treason 
against  his  sweet  mother  to  confide  it  to  other  ears 
than  hers.  And  yet,  young  as  he  is,  he  knows  some- 
thing of  the  love  his  mother  has  for  him,  and  he  feels 
that  this  new  idea  will  somehow  prove  distasteful  to 
her;  but  he  knows  and  feels  these  things  dimly,  he  has 
only  instinct  to  guide  him,  poor  little  bright-haired 
Eustache. 

But  his  mother  is  watching  him  ;  her  love  is  too  all- 
absorbing:  not  to  be  alive  to  the  slightest  change  in  her 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  209 

darling.  Eustache  is  not  a  chattering  child,  but  he  is 
always  full  of  life,  and  especially  on  a  holiday;  he  has 
always  a  plan  for  the  happiest  way  of  spending  it. 

Marie  Texier  watches  him  as  he  goes  on  eating 
in  silence,  and  as  he  draws  his  thick  dark  eyebrows 
together  and  looks  down  in  his  plate,  she  grows  more 
and  more  sure  that  something  troubles  her  darling. 

She  is  too  reserved  and  timid  to  ask  him  at  once 
what  ails  him  ;  the  question  would  come  more  easily 
if  Eustache  were  near  her,  and  she  could  put  her  arm 
round  him  and  draw  his  fair  head  close  to  hers  ;  but 
the  table  is  between  them,  and  the  boy  dqes  not  look 
at  her. 

All  at  once  he  lifts  his  head.  He  has  not  noticed 
his  mother's  unusual  silence,  he  has  been  far  too 
deeply  occupied  with  his  own  reverie. 

"  Mother,"  he  says  abruptly,  "  Is  your  heart  set  on 
making  me  a  doctor  ?"  He  gives  a  sigh  of  relief  at  this 
beginning. 

Marie  Texier's  soft  eyes  open  with  surprise. 

"It  is  not  I,"  she  says  gently,  "who  chose  that 
state  of  life  for  you — you  said  you  should  like  it,  my 
child — if  you  wish  for  a  quieter  life  perhaps  a  post 
may  be  found  for  you  in  the  library." 

Madame    Texier's    husband    had    been    one  of    the 

P 


210  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

public  librarians,  and   to  her  this  was  the  best  of  all 
employments. 

Eustache  shakes  his  head,  he  is  a  little  vexed  with 
his  mother,  it  seems  to  him  that  she  ought  to  be  able 
to  guess  his  wishes. 

At  last,  he  bursts  out  abruptly. 

"  Father  Cle"ry  says  my  voice  is  a  great  gift,  and 
he  says  a  gift  should  be  for  God's  service." 

Madame  Texier  looks  puzzled. 

"  Your  voice  is  good  now,  my  child ;  but  who 
knows.  Voices  change,  and  sometimes  never  come  back. 
Do  you  mean  that  Father  Clery  wishes  you,  when  you 
are  old  enough,  to  become  one  of  the  singers  of  the 
cathedral  ?  Well,  then,  you  may  be  a  singer,  and  you 
may  earn  your  living  some  other  way  too,  my  darling." 

Eustache  shakes  his  head. 

'  No,  no,  little  mother,  I  would  not  be  one  of  the 
singers  if  I  could,  they — they  are  not  good  ;  they  are 
dirty,  rough,  and  noisy  ;  but  never  mind  them  little 
mother  ;  Father  Clery  means  something  else." 

Marie  Texier  gives  a  little  start ;  she  understands 
now,  and  she  turns  so  pale,  that  if  Eustache  were  less 
intent  on  his  idea  he  would  think  she  was  ill.  As  it 
is,  he  feels  dimly  that  what  he  has  to  say  must  give 
her  pain,  and  he  gets  off  his  chair  and  comes  and 
stands  beside  her. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  211 

"  Well,  little  mother,"  he  says  rather  impatiently, 
"you  do  not  ask  any  questions?" 

"  I  am  listening,"  and  she  puts  her  hand  softly  to 
her  heart  as  if  she  felt  some  pain  there. 

But  Eustache  has  got  too  eager  to  notice  anything. 

"  Father  Clery  says,"  he  speaks  very  earnestly, 
"  that  we  should  give  our  lives  up  to  God's  service ; 
and  he  said  just  now,  'You  can  give  a  great  gift  to 
Him,  Eustache  ;'  and  I  said,  'What,  Father  ?'  and  he  said, 
'You  can  give  your  voice;'  and  then  he  said, — listen 
little  mother  ;"  for  Marie  covers  her  white  face  with 
one  trembling  hand.  "'  You  should  go  to  the  seminary, 
Eustache,  and  when  you  are  made  a  priest,  you  can 
come  back  here  again  and  be  close  to  your  mother,'  so 
you  see,  darling  mother,  you  could  listen  to  me  every 
day." 

But  Marie  does  not  hear  the  last  words  ;  she  feels 
a  sudden  spasm  of  pain,  and  then  she  falls  back  so 
white  and  rigid  that  Eustache  is  terrified  out  of  his 
self-absorption. 

"Julie,"  he  cries  in  terror,  "Julie,  come  quickly," — 
but  no  one  comes  ;  and  while  he  stands  panic-stricken 
gazing  at  the  blanched  face  and  lifeless  attitude,  he 
remembers  that  Julie  le  Camac  lies  ill  in  bed  upstairs. 

And    then    the   child's    self-reliant    nature    asserts 


212  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

itself.  He  dares  not  move  his  mother,  for  he  knows 
her  weight  would  overbalance  him  ;  but  he  snatches  up 
a  glass  of  water  and  sprinkles  some  in  her  face ;  and 
then  he  runs  into  the  print-shop  next  door  and  asks 
Monsieur  Sanson,  the  pompous  printseller,  to  go  quickly 
for  the  doctor. 

"  My  mother  is  very  ill,  Monsieur  Sanson,"  he  says 
gravely,  "  and  you  will  do  anything  for  my  mother, 
will  you  not,  neighbour?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  child,  I  fly — tell  your  dear  mother 
I  am  gone." 

And  Monsieur  Sanson,  who  has  an  ardent  wish  to 
become  the  stepfather  of  Eustache,  runs  off,  as  fast  as 
his  dignity  will  suffer  him,  to  do  the  boy's  bidding, 
while  Eustache  goes  back  to  his  mother. 


PART  II. 

MADAME  LE  CAMAC. 

THE  cathedral  clock  has  just  struck.  One — Two — Three 
— Four,  sound  loud  and  deep  in  the  afternoon  stillness  ; 
loud  and  deep  enough,  one  would  think,  to  wake  ever}' 
sleeper  in  the  town  —  for  surely  the  town  itself  has 
gone  to  sleep  in  the  intensity  of  this  July  sunshine. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  213 

There  is  not  a  sound  in  the  great  deserted  market- 
place. The  three  inns  there  show  no  signs  of  life,  they 
keep  a  mysterious  stillness  behind  their  green  wooden 
blinds. 

There  comes  presently,  at  a  leisurely  pace,  across 
the  grass-grown  stones  of  the  Place  a  tall  stout  priest, 
his  black  robes  swinging  as  he  walks  along. 

His  face  is  broad  and  kindly,  red  enough  just  now 
under  the  blazing  sunshine  ;  for  the  big  blue  umbrella 
he  carries  is  ,of  too  coarse  a  stuff  to  afford  effectual 
shelter,  the  light  comes  through  it  and  purples  his  hot 
cheeks  and  broad  good-tempered  nose. 

When  he  reaches  the  farther  side  of  the  great  open 
space  he  gives  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  turning  to  the  right 
finds  his  way  up  two  or  three  narrow  streets  to  the 
quiet  precincts  of  the  cathedral. 

The  stately  pile  is  built  on  the  summit  of  a  steep 
hill,  and  its  spires  look  down  on  the  valley  of  the  river, 
and  over  the  monotonous  far-stretching  plain  beyond. 

The  gray  magnificence  of  architecture  and  sculp- 
tured stone  and  painted  glass  is  closely  girt  with 
houses,  so  that  it  is  difficult  to  get  far  enough  away  to 
observe  it  as  a  whole.  But  Father  Clery  is  too  well 
acquainted  with  the  beautiful  green  gray  pile  to  stand 
considering  the  relative  excellences  of  the  spires,  or  the 


214  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

grandeur  of  the  colossal  porches,  and  the  perfect  carv 
ing  of  some  of  the  eighteen  hundred  statues  which  adorn 
the  building. 

He  stops  before  one  of  the  small  houses  facing  the 
church,  and  knocks  at  the  low  door. 

The  door  remains  closed,  but  Father  Clery  is  not 
impatient  ;  the  deep  cool  shadow  is  delightful,  for  these 
small  houses  are  so  close  to  the  cathedral  that  the  sun 
never  reaches  the  green  paving-stones.  It  is  pleasant  to 
stand  and  wipe  his  hot  face  with  a  huge  orange  pocket- 
handkerchief — the  only  bit  of  colour  besides  his  own 
face  and  hands  in  the  old  gray  close. 

The  door  is  opening  now,  and  a  little  slender 
woman  stands  curtseying  to  Father  Cle*ry.  She  is  very 
small  and  frail-looking,  with  a  delicate  pearl-like  face, 
that  tells  of  faded  beauty  and  of  much  present  sweetness. 
Her  eyes  have  been  blue — they  are  pale  and  clear  now 
— and  the  oval  face  is  narrow,  and  the  rounded  chin  is 
much  more  pointed  than  it  was  when  we  saw  her  years 
ago,  but  much  beauty  lingers  still  in  the  fine  clear  skin 
and  the  small  expressive  mouth,  and  above  all  in  the 
sweet  trustful  expression  that  wins  hearts  at  once  to 
Marie  Texier.  That  expression  glows  now  in  the 
bright  smile  with  which  she  greets  her  visitor. 

"  Well,  my  good  friend,"  he  says,  "  and  how  are 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  215 

you  ?  better — ah,  that's  right ;  now  having  got  better, 
you  must  keep  better — no  more  fainting-fits — we  can't 
have  those,  you  know;"  he  smiles,  but  Marie  looks 
sorrowful. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Father,  but  I  did  not  know  what 
I  did.  I  was  saying  my  rosary  —  kneeling  in  my 
place — and  then  on  a  sudden  comes  a  mist,  and  then  I 
find  myself  in  the  porch,  and  Madame  le  Camac  throws 
water  in  my  face  " — but  a  look  of  shame  reddens  her 
face — "  pardon  me,  Father,  I  keep  you  standing  while  I 
chatter  about  myself." 

The  priest  smiles. 

"  It  is  not  often  you  speak  of  yourself.  I  came 
to-day  to  bring  you  news  of  our  boy" — in  an  instant 
her  eyes  have  grown  dark  as  the  pupils  dilate  with 
expectation — "  He  is  settled  now,"  the  priest  goes  on, 
"  he  is  going  to  Mont  St.  Michel  in  Normandy  as  soon 
as  there  is  a  vacancy  in  the  community." 

The  little  frail  woman  grows  white  in  an  instant. 

"  Mont  St.  Michel,  Father.  Is  it  not  a  prison  for 
rogues  and  vagabonds,  a  place  cut  off  from  life,  far  away 
by  the  sea  ?"  her  eyes  fix  wistfully  on  the  priest. 

He  shrugs  his  shoulders. 

"  Of  course,"  he  speaks  half  to  himself,  "  how 
should  you  know  any  better ;  a  good  Catholic  like  you 


2ib  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

does  not  read  the  newspapers ;"  then  smiling  down 
into  her  anxious  eyes — "  the  prison,  my  daughter,  was 
emptied  some  years  ago  ;  the  prisoners  were  set  free, 
and  the  Bishop  of  Coutances  has  established  a  com- 
munity of  priests  in  the  desecrated  monastery.  I  hear 
that  much  has  already  been  done  to  restore  and  beautify 
the  church.  It  is  a  wonderful  place,"  he  says  reverently, 
"founded  by  the  holy  Archangel  himself,  as  you  may 
read  in  the  sacred  legend." 

"  Yes,  Father,"  but  Madame  Texier  sighs.  "  Is  it 
more  than  a  hundred  kilometres  away?" 

"Bah!  it  is  more  likely  four  hundred  kilometres 
away,  Marie;  but  courage,  my  daughter,"  for  her  eyelids 
droop,  and  he  sees  the  lashes  quiver  as  if  she  strove  to 
keep  back  tears. 

"  The  railway  goes  as  far  as  Pontorson  now,  and 
Pontorson  is  only  a  short  journey  from  the  Mount — a 
walk  over  the  sands  at  low  tide.  We  shall  see  Eustache 
here  one  of  these  fine  days,  and  he  will  have  stories 
enough  to  tell  you  of  the  wonders  of  the  Mount. 
There's  no  such  place  in  the  whole  world,  Marie  ;  a 
rock-convent — rock  within  and  rock  without !  why,  in 
the  very  bowels  of  the  hard  stone  there  is  a  chapel  with 
a  statue  of  our  Lady  as  black  as  the  blessed  Image 
yonder,"  he  looks  over  his  shoulder  at  the  cathedral. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  217 

"  Well,  well,  take  care  of  yourself,  and  remember,  my 
daughter,  that  it  is  an  honour  to  belong  to  such  a 
wondrous  place  as  Mont  St.  Michel.  Good-day." 

He  nodded,  and  then  bustled  on  till  he  turned 
out  of  sight  in  the  direction  of  the  archbishop's  palace. 

Madame  Texier  stood  looking  after  him.  She  had 
not  yet  recovered  from  the  shock  of  his  tidings,  and  she 
was,  for  the  time,  unconscious  of  time  and  place ;  pre- 
sently she  sighed  heavily,  and  went  back  into  her  neat 
room.  The  pale  green  panelled  walls  were  very  bare  ; 
but  on  one  side  of  the  mirror  over  the  fireplace  was  the 
photograph  of  a  man  of  middle  age,  on  the  other  that 
of  a  youth  of  eighteen,  so  alike  that  they  might  have 
passed  for  portraits  of  the  same  person — there  was  in 
both  the  same  firm  mouth,  and  the  same  strength  and 
earnestness  of  expression.  The  older  portraijt  repre- 
sented Madame  Texier's  husband,  and  the  youth  was 
her  son,  the  priest  Eustache. 

Marie  Texier  and  her  husband  had  loved  one 
another  with  that  true  love  which  death  does  not 
end.  When  her  husband  died  she  was  still  young  and 
pretty,  and  had  a  little  competence,  enough  to  spare 
her  the  need  of  working  for  others,  and  more  than  one 
of  her  fellow-townsmen  had  urged  her  to  take  a  second 
husband.  The  printseller,  Mr.  Sanson,  had  been  very 


218  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

importunate  ;  but  they  all  got  the  same  answer,  "Jean 
Baptiste  has  gone  from  our  sight — yes — but  he  is  not 
dead  to  me  ;  how  could  I  have  two  husbands  ?" 

She  was  resigned  to  the  loss  of  this  dear  friend  and 
companion,  but  she  had  never  been  able  to  resign 
herself  to  one  act  of  her  life.  She  could  never  tell 
how  she  had  brought  herself  to  consent  that  Eu^tache 
should  enter  the  priesthood  and  leave  her  thus  desolate. 

"  Mother,"  the  boy  said,  "I  will  come  back  one  day  ; 
I  will  say  masses  in  the  cathedral  ;  I  shall  be  close  at 
hand  to  give  you  the  last  offices."  And  in  the  fervour 
caught  from  his  young  devout  earnestness  Marie  had 
felt  capable  of  any  sacrifice  ;  the  parting  would  not  be 
for  long,  and  then  afterwards  there  would  be  Eustache 
always  close  by — a  guide  and  counsellor  as  well  as  a 
son.  It  might  be  that  the  reverence  and  clinging  trust 
she  had  had  for  her  husband's  judgment  had  transferred 
themselves  to  Eustache  as  he  grew  each  day  more  and 
more  like  his  dead  father. 

And  now  she  sits  down  in  her  wooden  chair,  and 
thinks  how  Quixotic  and  unreal  all  this  seems  ;  oh, 
how  lonely  life  is !  and  how  far  distant  this  island 
convent!  Instinctively  she  puts  her  slender  hand  over 
her  eyes,  and  finds  it  wet  with  tears. 

Marie  Texier  draws  her  hand  away  as  if  a  wasp 
had  stung  it. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  219 

"  Holy  Virgin,  what  am  I  doing  ?  repenting  my 
offering,  grudging  thee  the  gift  I  gave  ?  No,  I  do  not 
grudge  my  boy — my  Eustache,"  and  at  the  name  come 
thronging  memories  of  a  rosy  baby,  of  a  wee  toddler 
clinging  to  her  skirts,  of  a  bright-eyed  acolyte  singing 
with  silver  treble  notes  in  the  choir  of  the  grand  old 
cathedral,  last  of  the  pious  thoughtful  student  who, 
till  he  went  to  Bon  Secours,  used  to  come  over  from 
r"aris  to  spend  his  holidays  with  her.  Her  heart  swells 
painfully,  and  tears  brim  over  and  fall  on  the  hands 
that  lie  clasped  in  her  lap. 

She  looks  up  and  smiles,  "  It  is  not  wrong,"  she 
says,  "so  long  as  I  do  not  murmur.  God  permits 
these  tears,  or  why  did  He  put  it  in  my  heart  to  love 
my  boy  so  dearly  ?"  and  again  her  tears  fall  plentifully. 

There  is  a  heavy  step  on  the  stairs ;  Madame 
Texier  rises  and  goes  to  a  tall  bureau  which  faces  the 
front  window.  She  takes  a  pocket  handkerchief  from 
one  of  the  drawers  and  wipes  her  eyes  hastily,  for  the 
footsteps  have  reached  the  lowest  stair,  and  the  handle 
of  the  door  is  turning. 

There  comes  in  a  broad  bulky  woman  garbed  in  a 
succession  of  dark  fully  plaited  woollen  skirts,  that 
make  her  look  nearly  as  broad  as  she  is  high. 
Across  a  loosely-fitting  calico  body  she  wears  a  brown 


220  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

shawl,  its  two  ends  fastened  at  the  back  of  her  waist. 
Her  cap  has  nothing  distinctive  about  it;  it  is  much 
like  that  of  Madame  Texier,  the  cap  so  frequently 
seen  in  France  on  the  head  of  a  middle-aged  woman  of 
the  shopkeeping  class — muslin  with  a  close  full  border 
round  her  face,  fasteneck^beneath  the  'chin  by  strings 
of  purple  ribbon.  But  the  face  within  the  cap-border ! 
that  indeed  is  quite  another  sort  of  face  from  Marie 
Texier's.  Large  and  square,  and  coarse  and  dark  ; 
the  nose  is  square  -  topped  and  projects,  so  that  it 
looks  like  a  right  angle  of  flesh  set  in  the  midst  of 
this  unlovely  countenance.  The  mouth  is  enor- 
mously wide  and  lipless,  but  there  are  good  strong 
yellow  teeth  within  it.  No  vestige  of  hair  shows 
below  the  cap,  though  there  is  enough  on  the  broad 
chin  to  call  for  a  razor ;  the  eyebrows  are  only  faintly 
indicated,  but  the  eyes  though  small,  are  dark  and  full 
of  kindness.  And  yet  when  Julie  le  Camac  smiles  you 
forget  her  ugliness,  you  only  say  to  yourself,  "  Here  is  a 
woman  with  a  heart  in  her  bosom." 

She  stands  an  instant  in  the  open  doorway,  taking 
in  the  meaning  of  Marie  Texier's  attitude  ;  then  she 
turns  her  eyes  slowly  and  heavily  to  the  portrait  of 
Jean  Baptiste  Texier,  and  shaking  her  head,  her  mouth 
seems  to  fall  open,  so  listless  and  inactive  is  its  ex- 
pression. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  221 

"  Holy  Virgin,"  she  says,  "  has  she  then  gone  back 
to  weeping?"  Julie's  shoulders  move  uneasily.  "She 
who  has  taught  me  by  her  example  that  I  may  not 
weep  ;  no,  it  is  not  that  either."  Her  eyes  .nove 
across  to  the  likeness  of  Eustache. 

Marie  Texier  has  taken  her  hands  from  her  face, 
she  turns  round  and  tries  to  smile  at  her  visitor. 

Julie  shakes  her  shoulders  in  a  heavy  ungainly 
fashion,  more  that  of  an  elephant  than  of  a  woman. 

"If you  need  your  room,  Marie,  you  should  speak, 
I  never  shrink  from  hearing  a  plain  truth  ;"  there  is 
a  blundering  jocularity  in  the  words,  which  tells  that 
they  do  not  convey  Julie's  real  meaning. 

Madame  Texier  gazes  at  her  friend  with  wondering 
open  eyes,  she  is  still  too  much  pre-occupied  to  look 
below  the  surface. 

"  I  need  your  room  ?  who  says  so  ?"  At  this, 
Julie  puts  first  one  short  broad-fingered  hand  to  her 
waist,  then  the  other,  and  bursts  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Ma  foi,  Marie,  you  are  a  daisy  still  ;  you  will 
always  be  one  my  poor  angel ;  well,  I  won't  laugh, 
because  you  are  not  happy ;  but  if  Julie  can  no  longer 
comfort  and  help  you,  then  believe  me,  in  all  sincerity, 
it  is  better  for  you,  my  friend,  to  live  with  some  one 
who  can  give  you  better  help,  and  I  have  told  you 


222  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

often  you  may  well  find  a  score  better  than  such  as  I 
am." 

There  is  no  hidden  meaning  in  the  words. 
Julie's  eyes  are  full  of  humble  tender  love  as  she 
looks  at  her  frail  little  friend. 

Madame  Texier  smiles.  "  You  are  very  good, 
neighbour,  but  you  cannot  help  me  to-day.  I  have 
heard  news  that  weighs  heavily.  Eustache  is  not 
coming  here — he  is  going  farther  even  than  Bon  Secours 
— he  is  going  to  Mont  St.  Michel ;  you  have  heard  of 
the  place  have  you  not  ?" 

Julie  stands  considering,  then  a  smile  breaks  slowly 
over  the  broad  heavy  face. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  ;  it  is  in  a  picture  in  the  shop  of 
Mr.  Sanson  next  door,  but  it  is  only  a  rock,  with 
a  church  on  the  top,  and  the  sea  all  around.  Eustache 
cannot  live  there,  it  is  impossible." 

"  Yes  ! "  and  the  mother  tells  Father  Clery's  news. 

"  And  he  told  you  all  out  at  once — you  who  have 
been  ill!"  her  shoulders  touch  her  ears  in  scorn,  but 
she  refrains  from  outward  blame  of  the  priest. 

"  Well,"  she  says,  when  she  has  listened  to  the 
end,  "you  are  not  to  fret  by  yourself,  Marie  Texier; 
when  you  feel  tears  coming  you  will  come  to  the  stair- 
foot,  and  you  will  say,  '  Hola  there,  Julie,  I  want  to 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY,  223 

cry  ;  come  down  and  help  me  to  cry ' — why,"  a  look  of 
surprise  broadens  over  her  face,  "  she  is  laughing  at 
me  ;  was  there  ever  such  a  rainbow  of  a  woman  ?  I 
wager  she  will  come,  if  I  ask  her,  and  help  fresh  stuff 
my  mattress;  it  is  hard  to  do  alone." 

Madame  Texier   smiles,   and   the    two  friends  go 
upstairs  together. 

PART  III. 

THE  PILGRIMAGE. 

THERE  is  a  flutter  of  bustle  and  excitement  over  the 
gray,  sleepy,  old  town,  that  seems  to  transform  it.  The 
steep  streets,  winding  up  and  down  the  side  of  the  hill 
— so  narrow  that  the  quaint  gabled  top-stories  almost 
touch  their  opposite  neighbours  as  they  overhang  the 
lower  part  of  the  ancient  stone  houses, — are  thronged 
with  people  all  hurrying  in  one  direction,  and  treading 
down  the  grass  which  shows  here  and  there  among  the 
irregular  round  paving-stones.  Follow  these  hurrying 
folks  and  you  will  come  to  the  pleasant  tree-shaded 
Boulevard  on  the  western  side  of  the  town  ;  the  Boule- 
vard which  circles  the  old  quarter  of  the  city,  and  divides 
it  and  its  picturesque  moss-grown  irregularities  from  the 
modern  town,  in  comparison  so  clean,  so  light, and  so  dull. 


224  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

Very  near  the  pleasant  tree-shaded  promenade,  so 
dear  to  the  town  dwellers  on  Sundays  and  fete-days,  is 
the  railway  station,  and  as  you  get  nearer  the  descent 
leading  to  this  you  notice  that  many  of  the  hurrying 
men.  women,  and  children  of  the  throng  in  which  you 
find  yourself  carry  a  bundle  or  parcel,  and  in  some 
cases  a  more  ambitious  show  of  luggage  in  the  shape  of 
basket  and  bag.  Some  of  the  old  people  are  clearly 
not  travellers,  their  hands  are  empty,  except  that  many 
of  them  help  their  hobbling  steps  along  with  a  stout 
stick  ;  the  faces  of  all,  whether  young  or  old,  are  full  of 
a  pleasant  excitement,  and  the  buzz  of  tongues  increases 
as  the  groups  cross  the  Boulevard  and  go  down  hill 
to  the  railway  station. 

More  than  half  the  number,  and  these  are  chiefly 
women,  wear  on  their  shoulders — pinned  to  the  jacket  or 
shawl — a  cross  of  scarlet  cloth. 

Father  CleYy  stands  at  the  station  gate  and  wel- 
comes his  fellow-travellers  as  they  arrive  and  pass  in 
one  by  one.  He  is  to  take  charge  of  the  Pilgrimage 
which  has  been  preached  for  some  weeks  past  at  the 
cathedral  and  the  various  churches.  His  face  is  full  of 
kindly  sympathy  with  all,  and  there  is  a  sparkle  of 
eagerness  in  his  eyes,  but  a  glisten  comes  into  them, 
and  his  smile  is  heartier  yet,  as  two  women,  one  small 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  225 

and  slender,  and  one  as  broad  as  she  is  long,  come  arm 
and  arm  down  the  hill.  Madame  Texier's  delicate  face 
has  a  rare  glow  of  pleasure  on  it,  and  Madame  le  Camac's 
dark  eyes  sparkle,  but  neither  one  or  other  wears  the  red 
cross,  and  the  priest  smiles  when  he  remarks  its  absence. 

"  Good-day,"  he  says  heartily,  "  you  are  welcome, 
my  daughters.  Ah  !  that  is  right,  Julie,  you  carry  the 
basket,  I  see  ;  the  strong  must  help  the  weak  in  this  work- 
a-day  world  ;  but  why  have  you  not  put  on  the  badge, 
my  friends  ?  I  cannot  send  in  your  names  as  pilgrims 
without  the  badge  ;  to  all  intents  and  purposes  you  are 
pilgrims,  and  yet  you  will  not  reap  the  benefit  our 
Holy  Father  offers  to  those  who  go  on  Pilgrimage  to 
the  Mount.  What  say  you,  Marie  ?  even  now  it  is  not 
too  late  ;  Antoine " — he  nods  his  head  towards  the 
young  deacon  who  stands  near  him — "  has  plenty  of 
crosses  in  his  bag." 

Madame  Texier  curtseys,  but  she  shakes  her  head. 

"  I  could  not  feel  I  was  honest,"  she  raises  her  clear 
pale  eves  to  the  cure's  Face,  "  for,  Father,  I  had  never 
thought  of  going  to  the  Mount  if  my  Eustache  had 
stayed  at  Bon  Secours.  I  am  not  going  on  Pilgrimage  ; 
I  am  going  to  see  my  boy — once  more,  only  once  more, 
Father,  and  then  I  will  try  to  be  content." 

There  was  a  quiver  in  her  voice  that  seemed  to 
Q 


226  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

trouble  Father  Clery,  he  blew  his  nose  rather  noisily 
before  he  spoke  again. 

"Well,  and  you,  Julie,"  he  said,  "why  should  not 
you  wear  the  cross  ?  you,  at  any  rate,  have  no  son  at 
Mont  St.  Michel  ;  though,  as  to  that,"  he  turned  to 
Madame  Texier,  "  I  say  to  you  as  I  said  before,  that 
chances  are  against  you.  The  Bishop  will  be  there,  all 
the  priests  will  be  in  attendance,  and,  besides,  the  place 
will  be  so  thronged  with  clergy  from  all  parts  of  France 
— I  may  say  Europe — that  it  is  more  than  doubtful 
whether  you  find  out  Eustache  in  the  time  we  are  per- 
mitted to  remain."  He  turned  sharply  to  Madame  le 
Camac,  whose  scanty  eyebrows  were  doing  their  best 
to  express  a  frown  ;  "  Well,  Julie,  what  is  your  excuse 
for  not  wearing  the  badge  ?" 

"  There  is  no  need  for  an  excuse,"  one  huge  shoulder 
went  up  awkwardly,  and  with  her  free  hand  she  pinched 
her  apron  like  a  shy  child.  "  The  good  Father  knows  I 
cannot  leave  Marie  Texier ;  if  she  stays  I  stay  too,  if 
she  goes  I  go,  it  is  simple.  I  have  no  son  at  the 
Mount  the  Father  says  ;  well,  but  Marie  has  one  there — 
it  is  all  the  same — ha,  ha."  She  laughed  with  awkward 
relief,  opening  her  mouth  to  such  an  alarming  extent 
that  a  stranger,  waiting  for  the  same  train,  drew  back 
aghast  that  any  woman  should  look  so  hideous. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  227 

Father  Clery  smiled. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  think  you  are  over  scrupulous;" 
then,  as  they  went  on  to  the  waiting-room,  he  said  to 
the  deacon,  "  I  doubt  if  we  have  a  couple  of  truer 
pilgrims  among  us  than  those  two ;  there  is  no  excite- 
ment about  them,  and  they  will  assist  at  all  the  offices 
devoutly.  Marie  looks  better  already  for  the  hope  of 
seeing  her  son." 

Meanwhile  Madame  le  Camac  was  of  quite  another 
opinion.  She  knew  how  these  two  years  of  entire 
separation  had  told  on  the  poor  little  mother,  and  at 
first  she  had  tried  to  dissuade  her  from  the  long  weari- 
some journey — for  it  would  be  sadly  wearisome.  Spite 
of  the  early  hour  of  starting,  the  pilgrims  would  not 
reach  Pontorson  till  evening — probably  too  late  to  go  on 
to  the  Mount — and  it  seemed  to  be  uncertain  whether 
they  would  get  lodging  for  the  night  even  at  Pontorson, 
so  many  arrivals  were  expected.  But  Madame  Texier's 
firm  though  gentle  pleading  had  prevailed,  and  Julie 
had  given  her  consent  to  the  expedition. 

"  It  shall  go  hard,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  if  I  cannot 
find  a  bundle  of  straw  for  her  to  lie  on,  and  I'll  under- 
take to  keep  her  warm." 

But  the  brightness  of  her  friend's  eyes  and  the  glow 
on  her  cheeks  this  morning  do  not  deceive  Madame  le 


228  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

Camac.  She  looks  wistfully  at  Marie  Texier  as  they 
stand  wedged  in  the  crowd  that  more  than  fills  the 
salle  d'attente,  and,  as  the  atmosphere  grows  hot  and 
dense  Julie  sees  her  look  white  and  faint. 

Just  then  the  door  opens,  and  Father  Clery's  tall 
figure  towers  behind  the  little  railway  official,  who  pushes 
in  an  addition  to  the  closely  packed  crowd.  Julie  and 
her  companion  are  near  the  door,  and  Madame  le  Camac 
manages  to  catch  the  father's  eye  as  he  looks  smiling 
over  his  flock.  She  points  to  Madame  Texier  and 
opens  her  huge  mouth  in  dismay.  The  salle  is  now  so 
full  that  it  is  not  easy  to  open  the  door  widely,  but 
Father  Clery  forces  a  way  with  his  burly  shoulders,  and 
the  crowd  makes  a  passage  for  him  till  he  reaches  the 
two  women  in  the  corner.  "  Make  way,"  he  says, 
"  bring  her  into  the  air,"  and  he  leads  the  way  through 
the  buffet  to  the  platform. 

Madame  Texier  draws  a  deep  breath,  and  then  she 
gives  a  little  frightened  glance  at  Julie,  and  one  full  of 
appeal  to  the  priest. 

"  I  give  so  much  trouble,"  she  says  humbly,  "  and 
it  is  quite  my  own  fault — if  I  roused  myself  I  should 
not  be  so  silly." 

As  she  speaks  a  tinge  of  colour  blooms  on  her 
cheeks  and  the  priest  smiles. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  229 

"  That  is  right,"  he  says,  "  you  are  getting  better. 
Get  her  a  glass  of  water,  Julie,  and  keep  her  walking 
up  and  down,  and  she  will  soon  be  herself  again." 

Madame  le  Camac  is  slow-witted,  and  Father  Clerks 
quickness  is  more  than  she  can  follow.  By  the  time 
that  she  has  linked  his  hopeful  words  to  the  faint  glow 
on  Marie  Texier's  face,  that  glow  has  faded,  and  her 
friend  is  as  white  and  wan  as  she  was  in  the  hot  waiting- 
room.  Madame  le  Camac's  hairless  eyebrows  draw  to- 
gether thoughtfully,  but  she  cannot  find  words  to  say 
what  she  wants.  At  last,  very  abruptly — so  that  the 
words  come  like  stones  flung  at  a  window — "  Come 
away,  Marie ;  come,  come  ! " 

Madame  Texier  starts,  and  looks  round  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,  come  away,  I  have  changed  my  mind  ;  we  will 
not  go  to  Mont  St.  Michel." 

Such  a  look  of  fervour  and  love  comes  into  the 
little  widow's  eyes. 

"  No,  no,  Julie,  you  shall  not  go — of  course  you 
shall  not  if  you  do  not  wish,  but  I  must  go,  and  " — the 
troubled  look  on  the  ugly  uncouth  face  reveals  Julie's 
secret — "  my  friend,  I  must  go  without  you  ;  see  then, 
I  hope  it  is  not  selfish,  but  what  can  I  do  ?  my  heart 
is  where  my  boy  is,  Julie  " — she  stops  and  lays  her 
hand  on  her  bosom — "  it  draws  and  draws  me  to  him — 


230  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS   . 

there  is  more  of  my  life  already  at  the  Mount  than 
there  is  in  this  poor  little  body." 

She  speaks  with  tender  earnestness,  for  Julie  looks 
sulky;  one  shoulder  is  much  higher  than  its  fellow,  and 
Madame  le  Camac  fingers  the  basket  in  a  discontented 
manner. 

"  I  do  not  say  it  is  selfish — what  do  I  know  ;  it  is 
perhaps  suicide  I  am  helping  you  to  commit,  widow 
Texier." 

Julie  will  not  look  at  her  friend  ;  her  eyes  are  fixed 
on  a  line  of  baggage  trucks  opposite. 

Madame  Texier  smiles  sadly.  She  knows  that 
Julie  only  calls  her  widow  Texier  when  she  is  really 
displeased.  She  puts  her  hand  timidly  on  the  big 
square  shoulder. 

"  Listen,  kind  friend.  It  is  not  only  for  myself — it 
is  more,"  she  looks  round  to  see  that  no  one  is  near, 
"  far  more  for  my  Eustache — he  does  not  say  he  pines 
for  me, — my  boy  is  too  good  to  ask  the  slightest  fatigue 
or  expense  from  his  mother, — but  there  is  a  longing 
one  can  feel  through  words,  a  sadness  that  speaks 
without  complaint.  Mon  Dieu !  I  hope  it  is  not  all 
for  myself;  but  indeed,  my  good  Julie,  I  think  the 
sight  of  me  will  put  a  great  joy  into  the  heart  of  my 
Eustache." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  231 

Her  voice  trembles,  and  Julie  rubs  her  eyes  roughly 
with  her  hand. 

"  Well,"  she  says  harshly,  "  and  when  your  visit  is 
paid,  what  then  ?  will  it  not  be  worse  for  you  both  to 
part  again  ?" 

Marie  Texier  smiles. 

,  "  Who  knows,"  she  says  brightly,  "  I  may  find  a 
lodging  at  the  Mount,"  then,  touched  by  the  dismay 
shown  by  the  gaping  mouth  and  widely-opened  eyes, 
"  but  why  look  on  so  far ;  the  day  is  enough  to  live 
through,  and  we  shall  not  reach  Mont  St.  Michel  to- 
day, my  good  Julie." 

•  PART  IV. 

OVER  THE  SANDS. 

THE  rain  has  fallen  in  torrents  through  the  night ;  it 
has  soaked  through  many  of  the  half-roofed  sheds  in 
which  the  tired  pilgrims  had  been  glad  to  lie  down  and 
sleep  when  they  reached  Pontorson,  so  that  they  rise 
up  with  wet  garments. 

Madame  le  Camac  stands  at  the  door  of  the  cafe 
where,  thanks  to  Father  Clery,  she  and  Marie  Texier  have 
found  a  lodging,  and  Julie  congratulates  herself  that  her 
friend  has  been  thus  sheltered. 


232  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

The  wind,  too,  has  risen  during  the  night,  and  it  howls 
dismally  as  it  rushes  through  the  old  grey  town  to  the 
waste  of  far  stretching  sand,  for  it  is  neap-tide  at  the 
Mount,  and  there  is  no  fear  of  shifting  sands  to-day. 
Still,  Father  Cle"ry  has  arranged  that  the  pilgrims  shall 
start  early,  so  that  they  may  be  in  time  for  High 
Mass,  and  may  be  able  to  return  to  Pontorson  before 
dark.  The  journey  has  already  cost  a  large  sum,  and 
they  must  go  on  foot  to  the  Mount  itself,  walking  in 
Pilgrimage  across  the  far-stretching  waste  of  sand. 

As  the  distance  is  six  miles  or  so,  a  rough  cart  has 
been  secured  for  the  weaker  members  of  the  flock,  and 
in  this  jolting  springless  vehicle  Father  Clery  has  found 
a  place  for  Marie  Texier. 

Madame  le  Camac  cannot  stay  to  help  her  friend  in, 
for  the  walking  procession  is.  to  start  first,  and  the  priest 
and  his  colleagues  find  it  hard  work  to  place  their 
pilgrims  in  suitable  order  before  they  begin  their  journey 
to  the  Mount.  It  is  a  dismal  expedition  ;  the  procession 
leaves  the  old  town  and  moves  slowly  on  by  the  uneven 
road  towards  the  river  till  it  reaches  the  borders  of  the 
Greve.  The  dreary  waste  of  sand  stretches  itself  out  in 
weird  vastness,  and  far  away,  mingled  with  the  driving 
mass  of  gray  cloud,  is  the  shadowy  Mont  St.  Michel,  its 
outline  blurred  by  the  torrent  of  rain  that  still  falls. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  233 

The  cart  in  which  Marie  Texier  rides  has  got  along- 
side of  the  other  pilgrims,  and  Marie  puts  her  hand  over 
her  eyes  so  as  to  get  a  clearer  view  of  the  church 
planted  high  among  the  clouds. 

"  My  Eustache,"  she  murmurs  softly,  "  my  dear  boy, 
thank  God  I  shall  see  him  at  last." 

How  far  off  the  Mount  looks,  and  how  impossible  it 
seems  that  there  can  be  any  dwellers  on  that  shadowy 
rock  that  looms  out  from  the  desolate  waste  of  tawny 
sand,  and  seems  to  mingle  with  the  storm-clouds.  On 
the  right,  far  away,  crouching  on  the  dull  drab-coloured 
sand,  the  huge  dark  rock  Tombelaine  looks  like  a  lion 
about  to  spring  ;  one  might  fancy  him  the  storm-fiend 
keeping  watch  over  the  howling  wind  and  rising  waves. 
In  the  distance  far  behind  is  the  Mount,  right  and  left  of 
it  the  gray  sea  stretches  far  and  wide.  One  of  her  fel- 
low-pilgrims watches  the  wonder  in  Marie's  gazing  eyes. 

"  At  the  great  tides,"  he  says, "  the  waves  roll  up  to 
the  very  foot  of  the  wall  that  surrounds  Mont  St.  Michel, 
and  it  is  cut  off  completely  from  land." 

Their  fellow-pilgrim  is  an  old  man  with  flowing  white 
hair  ;  he  has  already  visited  the  Mount,  and  he  shakes 
his  head  sadly,  and  points  out  to  Marie  a  spot  made 
dangerous  by  the  quicksands.  A  cross  stands  near  it 
telling  of  past  woe.  "  But,  indeed,"  the  white-haired 


234  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

pilgrim  says,  "  except  at  neap-tide,  such  as  we  have  now, 
when  there  is  no  fear  of  the  return  of  the  water,  it  is 
very  dangerous  to  cross  the  sands  without  a  guide." 

All  at  once  the  rain  ceases,  and  suddenly,  distinct 
before  them,  as  though  a  veil  had  suddenly  lifted,  is  the 
bourne  of  the  Pilgrimage,  the  Mont  St.  Michel.  A 
glad  cry  passes  along  the  band,  and  led  by  Father 
Clery  they  chant  a  hymn  in  honour  of  the  Holy 
Archangel. 

"Ah!"  says  the  fellow-traveller,  "once  on  a  time 
there  was  a  golden  statue  of  the  saint  on  the  summit  of 
the  church  ;  now  there  is  a  weathercock." 

"Are  people  often  lost  on  the  sands  ?" 

Marie  shivers  and  draws  her  shawl  closely  round 
her  as  she  asks. 

"  Dame,  no.  There  are  seldom  new-comers  dwelling 
at  the  Mount,  and  those  who  go  from  the  continent  do 
not  venture  unwarily  on  the  sands.  One  was  lost  not 
long  ago,  however  ;  he  was  a  priest." 

Marie's  hands  tremble  till  her  shawl  almost  slips 
from  them.  "Was  he  young,  monsieur?"  she  says. 
"  Did  you  hear  where  he  came  from  ?" 

"  Not  I." 

Marie's  lip  quivers  ;  she  says  a  prayer  to  herself. 
If  it  should  be  so  !  Eustache  has  not  written  to  her 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  235 

for  many  weeks,  not  even  in  answer  to  the  letter  in 
which  she  announced  her  coming.  But,  no :  she  will 
not  listen  to  a  vague  fear.  She  will  trust  and  hope, 
and  as  the  Mount  comes  nearer  and  more  and  more 
distinct,  hope  and  trust  become  easier. 

The  wind  has  been  rising  higher  and  higher,  and 
suddenly  it  swoops  down  in  a  whirling  gust  on  the  tired 
band  of  travellers.  The  fellow-traveller  cries  out  and 
clutches  at  his  hat ;  he  is  too  late,  it  has  taken  flight  and 
is  sailing  on  the  furious  blast.  The  pilgrims  scatter 
over  the  sands,  and  struggle  wildly  against  the  gale, 
while  their  hats  fly  like  black  ants  into  gray  distance, 
farther  and  farther  away. 

"  Stop  there  ;  halt,  come  back  !  I  command  you." 
Father  Clery's  hat  has  flown  with  the  rest,  and  he  runs 
after  it  too,  but  soon  he  stops,  very  red  and  panting. 

"  It  is  useless,  my  friends,"  he  cries  ;  "  come  back. 
In  our  eagerness  we  shall  lose  the  track,  and  plunge,  for 
aught  I  know,  into  some  unsafe  ground."  Then  he  adds 
with  a  laugh,  "  We  may  hope  for  an  extra  blessing  on 
bare-headed  pilgrims." 

And  after  some  delay  the  Father  gets  his  scattered 
flock  together  again. 


236  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

PART  IV. 

AT  THE  MOUNT. 

THERE  are  five  hundred  pilgrims  in  Mont  St.  Michel 
to-day,  without  counting  many  visitors  and  tourists  who 
do  not  wear  the  red  cross.  The  inns  are  full  and  over- 
flowing, and  up  in  the  fortress  abbey  there  are  large 
fires  blazing  on  the  enormous  stone  hearths  of  the 
refectory,  and  cooking  is  going  on  as  if  the  old  monastic 
hospitality  were  once  more  revived.  Covers  are  laid  on 
the  long  wooden  tables,  and  the  tariff  of  prices  is 
moderate  :  but  the  viands  do  not  look  as  tempting  as 
they  do  down  at  the  Lion  d'Or,  near  the  entrance  gate 
of  the  rocky  town. 

There  is  a  rare  bustle  at  the  Lion  d'Or  to-day.  Its 
low-roofed  kitchen,  into  which  you  step  down  from  the 
street,  has  few  windows,  and  as  the  entrance  door  is 
small  the  kitchen  is  dark  within.  A  young  priest  stands 
at  the  door  asking  questions,  and  as  he  looks  inside  the 
scene  seems  too  picturesque  for  reality.  Little  by  little 
his  eyes  grow  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  and  he  sees 
more  than  one  long  table  filled  with  pilgrims,  eating, 
drinking,  laughing,  joking,  growing  every  moment  noisier 
and  merrier,  each  wearing  the  scarlet  cross. 


LA   MERVEILLE,  MONT   ST.-MICHEL. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  237 

The  young  priest  steps  down  into  the  rambling 
black-beamed  place,  and  scans  curiously  the  faces  of  its 
inmates,  but  a  push  on  his  arm  disturbs  his  scrutiny. 

He  stands  with  his  back  to  a  large  wood  fire  on  the 
open  hearth,  and  as  he  looks  round,  a  stout  comely 
woman  pushes  her  way  up  to  the  burning  logs.  She  is 
clad  in  blue  woollen,  and  her  bare,  plump,  outstretched 
arms  carry  a  huge  frying-pan  full  of  broken  eggs. 

'•  By  your  leave,  my  reverend,"  she  says.  "  This  is 
the  omelette  for  the  company  upstairs,  and  they  must 
not  be  kept  waiting  for  it." 

The  young  priest  looks  at  the  golden  mass.  There 
must  be,  in  the  frying-pan,  at  least  thirty  eggs,  he  thinks. 
There  are,  then,  other  pilgrims  upstairs.  And  he  climbs 
the  creaking  steps  which  rise  from  the  kitchen  itself. 

In  the  room  upstairs  are  three  tables  full  of  guests, 
but  not  one  face  that  he  seeks,  and  the  priest  comes 
sadly  downstairs  again,  just  as  the  smoking  golden 
omelette  is  being  carried  up.  The  mistress  gives  it  to 
her  deft  waitress,  and  then  she  smiles  at  the  priest. 

"  Well,  monsieur,"  she  says,  "  it  is  not  well  of  the 
fathers  at  the  convent  to  be  cheating  us  of  our  dues  ; 
you  cannot  cook — you  had  better  tend  the  sick.  I  hear 
there  was  a  poor  woman  taken  ill  this  morning,  and  no 
doctor  could  be  got  for  her." 

"  A  sick  woman,"  he  says  eagerly.     "  I  wish  I  had 


238  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

known.  No,  the  doctor  is  absent ;  he  went  to  Avranches 
this  morning.  Where  is  this  sick  woman  ?" 

"  Ma  foi  I  how  can  I  know  ? " — she  puts  both  hands 
to  her  head — "  I  remember  nothing  to-day  but  my 
orders."  She  adds,  laughing,  "  My  husband  there  will 
tell  you  ;  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  to  talk,"  she  smiles 
with  a  touch  of  sarcasm  on  her  comely  face,  "  nothing 
but  to  sit  there  talking,"  she  points  to  a  table  at  the 
back  of  the  great  rambling  kitchen.  Mine  host,  in  a 
brown  holland  blouse,  sits  here  smoking  a  prodigious 
pipe,  with  about  six  red-faced  companions,  also  in  blouses. 
There  is  a  great  cider  pitcher  on  the  table,  and,  judging 
by  the  faces  of  the  host  and  his  companions,  it  has 
been  emptied  and  refilled  more  than  once. 

As  the  priest  approaches,  the  host  looks  up  with  a 
sort  of  careless  indifference. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  " — the  young  man  is  disgusted 
at  what  seems  to  him  at  such  a  time  profane  excess — 
"  you,  monsieur,  I  mean,"  this  is  said  more  sharply,  for 
the  innkeeper  has  not  even  removed  his  pipe,  "  where  the 
sick  pilgrim  I  hear  of  has  been  removed  to  ?" 

The  innkeeper  lays  down  his  long  pipe  and  smiles. 

"  Dame  !"  he  shrugs  his  shoulders  ;  "  there  is  not 
much  amiss,  she  will  do  well  enough.  I  was  by  when 
she  fainted  at  the  gate  here  this  forenoon,  but  just  now 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  239 

Andre  said  he  saw  her  in  the  procession  with  the  rest 
of  the  Chartres  pilgrims  waiting  for  the  Bishop." 

"  Chartres  pilgrims,  did  you  say  ?"  The  young  priest 
starts,  and  then  flushes  ;  his  voice  is  very  eager.  "  Are 
you  not  mistaken.  The  pilgrims  to-day  are  surely  from 
Versailles  and  Tours." 

"  From  Versailles,  yes,  reverend  father,  but  not  from 
Tours.  Father  Gaspard  told  me  this  morning  that  the 
Tours  pilgrims  have  not  yet  reached  Pontorson,  and 
these  from  Chartres  have  come  to-day  in  place  of  them." 

But  before  the  last  words  are  spoken  the  priest  has 
turned  to  go  away.  He  hurries  out  of  the  inn,  passes 
through  the  dark  archway  of  the  inner  battlement,  and 
then,  turning  aside  from  the  crooked  street  of  ancient 
stone  houses,  goes  up  the  steep  ascent  to  the  fortress 
abbey.  The  rain  has  ceai  ed,  but  the  wind  howls  yet 
more  wildly  over  the  waste  ;  a  waste  even  more  dismal 
here,  for  it  seems  boundless,  except  where  a  faint  blue 
line  marks  the  Breton  coast,  and  on  the  right  a  stronger, 
nearer  line  of  margin  traces  out  Avranches  and  the 
Norman  sea-board. 

Farther  north,  islands  make  uncertain  specks  in  the 
wide  expanse  of  gray  sea  and  monotonous  greVe,  for  at 
this  height  the  variation  of  tint  is  indiscernible,  and  the 
infinite  sameness  gives  a  weird  melancholy  to  the  prospect 
— a  melancholy  that  fills  the  heart  with  unaccustomed 


240  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS. 

throbbings  and  fragments  of  thought,  fragments  which 
might — who  can  say  ? — grow  into  poetry  in  a  longer 
contemplation.  The  young  priest  had  felt  these 
throbbings  on  his  first  arrival  at  the  Mount,  but  to-day, 
though  the  atmosphere  was  charged  with  weird  pathos, 
he  hurried  on,  alike  unmindful  of  the  desolate  waste  or 
of  the  superb  "  marvel  "  of  masonry  before  him,  till  he 
stopped  at  last  before  the  frowning  doorway  and  entered 
the  monastery. 

In  the  guard-room  two  priests  were  busy  at  one 
end  of  the  large  vaulted  hall,  selling  crosses  and  rosaries 
to  pilgrims,  while  at  the  other  end  some  peasant-women 
had  set  up  a  shop  for  photographs. 

"  You  must  hasten,"  one  of  these  said  to  her  customer, 
"  or  you  will  miss  the  benediction  in  the  Crypte  des 
Gros  Piliers.  The  Bishop  is  on  his  way  there  now." 

"  Do  you  hear,  Adele,"  the  woman  who  was  buying 
said  to  her  companion  ;  "  hasten,  or  we  shall  miss  an- 
other sight."  They  paid  hastily  for  their  purchases,  and 
scrambled  up  the  steps  which  led  into  the  interior  of 
the  building. 

Here  all  was  scramble  and  confusion  ;  the  ordinary 
guides  were  making  holiday,  and  people  roamed  aimlessly 
up  and  down  the  long  passages  and  dark  irregular 
flights  of  stone  steps,  trying  to  find  their  way  to  the 
crypt,  and  fearing  to  lose  themselves  and  to  get  buried 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  241 

out  of  hearing  in  some  of  the  far-off  world-famous 
dungeons  of  the  fortress  abbey.  A  few  dim  oil-lamps 
here  and  there  only  shed  a  faint  glimmer  in  the  utter 
darkness  of  the  place  round  the  spot  on  which  they 
hung — stone  walls  and  roof  alike  black  with  age. 

But  the  priest  knew  his  road,  and  he  hurried  on 
through  the  noisy  groups  of  pilgrims  till  he  reached  the 
chapel  of  Notre  Dame-sous-Terre. 

He  had  purposely  avoided  the  main  entrance  to  the 
crypt,  and  had  gone  in  at  the  side,  and  now  he 
stood  wedged  in  by  the  crowd  against  one  of  the  groups 
of  huge  pillars  which  give  its  name  to  this  wonderful 
chapel,  or  series  of  five  chapels,  beneath  the  church  itself. 

Even  his  eager  search  for  the  Chartres  pilgrims  was 
checked  for  an  instant  by  the  scene.  A  little  way  from 
him  was  the  famous  image,  a  black  Madonna,  richly 
dressed  and  surrounded  by  a  wreath  of  flowers  ;  over 
her  head  hung  a  lamp,  shining  out  like  a  star  against  the 
dark  pillar  and  black  vaulted  roof,  while  from  the  roof 
itself  hung  an  iron  chandelier  filled  with  blazing  candles. 
The  spaces  between  the  two  circles  of  pillars  were  inky 
in  their  depth  of  darkness. 

Just  under  the  chandelier,  so  that  the  light  con- 
centrated itself  on  his  gold  jewelled  mitre  and  splendid 

vestments,    stood    the    tall   Bishop    of   Coutances,   his 

R 


242  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

jewelled  crosier  borne  beside  him  ;  behind  and  around, 
stretching  away  into  the  dark  aisles,  was  a  crowd  of 
white-robed  priests  and  acolytes,  and  beyond  these 
again,  surging  round  the  crypt  till  every  inch  of  it  was 
filled,  so  closely  packed  that  it  seemed  as  if  you  might 
walk  on  their  bowed  heads  or  upturned  faces,  were  the 
pilgrims  ;  each  of  them  was  marked  with  the  red  cross, 
and  many  of  them  carried  a  lighted  candle. 

And  now  the  Bishop  began  the  hymn,  and  as  the 
pilgrims  poured  out  their  voices  till  the  sound  rang 
from  arch  to  arch,  and,  swelling  out  through  the  dark 
arches,  was  echoed  back  from  far-distant  seldom-trodden 
galleries,  tears  rolled  down  many  of  the  withered  cheeks, 
and  fell  on  many  starched  cap-strings  and  many  a  ragged 
gray  beard. 

The  hymn  swelled  louder  and  louder,  and  then,  as 
it  ended  abruptly,  the  procession  formed  itself  and  began 
slowly  to  leave  the  underground  chapel.  Just  as  the 
Bishop  turned  to  follow  the  long  string  of  priests, 
there  was  a  swaying  movement  in  the  crowd,  and  a 
woman's  voice  cried  : 

"  Make  way — make  way,  I  tell  you.  You  will 
trample  on  her  ;  see,  she  is  falling!" 

"  Mon  Dieu!"  an  old  gray-bearded  man  wheezes 
out.  "  She  should  not  be  in  such  a  crowd  ;  folks  come 
here  to  worship,  not  to  faint" 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  243 

The  priest  has  pushed  his  way  through  the  swaying, 
moving  mass,  and  now  he  stands  beside  the  woman  who 
cried  out  just  now.  Well  enough  he  knows  that  hugely- 
opened  mouth  and  that  triangular  nose,  but  he  has  no 
time  to  recognise  Madame  le  Camac.  His  eyes  go  on 
to  the  burden  she  struggles  to  keep  from  falling,  for  her 
arm  is  clasped  closely  round  her  small  slender  companion. 
The  priest  does  not  stop  to  gaze  at  that  gray  death-like 
face,  nor  does  he  ask  a  question. 

"  Leave  her — make  way,"  he  says,  as  he  bends  over 
Marie  Texier,  and  raises  her  in  his  strong  young  arms. 
He  bears  her  out  of  the  dark  chapel,  along  a  passage  to 
a  staircase,  and  Julie  scrambles  after  him  quickly,  and 
finds  herself  presently  in  a  square  cloister,  three  hundred 
feet  high  in  air,  surrounded  on  all  its  sides  with  ex- 
quisite lancet  arches,  supported  on  slender  sculptured 
columns. 

The  priest  has  lain  his  burden  down  just  within 
these  arches,  he  kneels  beside  Marie  and  unties  her 
cap-strings. 

Madame  le  Camac  is  bustling  forward,  but  at  the 
agony  in  the  priest's  face  she  stops  short,  for  she  recog- 
nises Eustache.  The  little  mother  and  her  boy  are  to- 
gether at  last.  The  mother's  eyes  are  open  now  ;  she 
too  sees  her  boy,  and  a  bright  smile  shines  out  of  the 


244  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

wan  gray  face.  Julie  shrinks  back  and  cowers  behind 
the  arches.  Too  well  she  knows  the  joy  that  fills  that 
tender  long-suffering  heart  ;  how  could  she  rob  it  of 
one  minute  of  its  longed-for  happiness  ?  She  must  yield 
up  her  part  in  Marie  now.  So  she  shrinks  out  of  sight. 

"  Mother,  mother,"  Eustache  says,  "  how  long  has 
this  been  ?  Oh,  why  did  I  not  know  ?"  for  too  surely 
it  seems  to  him  that  death  hovers  on  that  ashy  face  and 
on  those  purple  lips. 

His  mother  gazes  fondly  at  him,  and  tries  to  put 
up  her  hand  and  stroke  his  face. 

"My  Eustache,"  so  softly  said  that  he  has  to  lean 
down  to  hear,  "  it  is  I  who  should  kneel  to  him  for 
blessing."  Her  eyes  close.  "Thank  God,"  she  whispers 
as  he  stoops  to  kiss  her  forehead. 

"  Mother,  you  will  recover."  He  looks  round  for 
help,  and  he  sees  the  figure  crouching  behind  the  slender 
columns. 

"Some  water  from  the  sacristy!"  He  points  to  a 
large  doorway  up  some  steps.  "  Send  one  of  the  con- 
vent fathers,"  he  says,  hurriedly. 

Poor  Julie !  She  gives  one  sad  hungering  look  to 
the  spot  where  Marie  lies.  It  is  too  hard.  She,  whose 
whole  life's  happiness  lies  there  fading  quickly  away, 
she  must  leave  her,  and  give  up  the  hope  of  a  last  fare- 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  245 

well,  while  Eustache •  "  Oh,  it  is  hard  ;  it  is  hard. 

He  left  her  of  his  own  free  will,"  she  says,  hurrying 
along  ;  "  he  has  been  happy  enough  without  her  all 
this  while — but,  Holy  Virgin,  I  am  wicked  ! "  And  she 
goes  on  still  more  quickly. 

And  while  she  hurries  on,  Eustache  says  all  this  to 
himself.  "  I  have  been  happy  without  her — yes,"  he 
says  ;  "  but,  oh,  mother,  I  have  sorely  longed  for  thee  ! 
Mother — little  mother,  speak  to  me — one  word  !"  He 
forgets  all.  He  is  no  longer  the  calm,  self-sustained 
priest  Eustache  ;  his  hot  tears  are  falling  on  the  pale 
face. 

"  Has  it  been  worth  while  ?"  he  murmurs  ;  and  then, 
after  a  long,  silent  pause,  with  bowed  head,  he  sobs, 
"  Oh,  mother,  how  thy  loving  heart  has  ached  for  me !" 

Heavy  steps  come  along  the  cloister.  He  starts, 
looks  up,  and  here  are  Father  Clery  and  Julie  side  by 
side. 

The  young  priest  clasps  his  mother  in  his  arms,  as 
if  he  fears  she  will  be  taken  from  him  ;  but  Father  Clery 
bends  down  and  looks  in  her  face  for  an  instant ;  then 
he  draws  back,  and  gently  draws  back  the  eager  Julie. 
"Hush!"  he  says,  reverently,  "we  are  too  late.  All 
that  is  left  us  now  is  to  say  the  office  for  the  faithful 
departed." 


246  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE  CASTLE  OF  FALAISE— ARLETTE— HONFLEUR— PONT-AUDEMER 
—THE  FOUROLLE— BESIDE  THE  RILLE. 

FROM  Avranches  we  went  on  to  Vire,  and  thence  the 
diligence  drive  to  Caen  is  one  of  the  most  charming 
incidents  of  Norman  travel.  We  had  stayed  in  Caen 
before,  and  so  we  did  not  linger  in  the  old  city,  so  rich 
in  churches,  and  in  associations  specially  interesting  to 
English  men  and  women.  We  were  anxious  to  visit 
the  castle  and  town  of  Falaise  —  the  birthplace  of 
William  the  Bastard. 

The  town  of  Falaise  is  built  on  the  top  of  a  lofty 
platform,  the  extremity  of  which  is  a  precipice  (whence 
the  name  Falaise).  From  this  rocky  termination  of  the 
platform  rise,  sheer  and  frowning,  the  imposing  ruins  of 
the  castle,  consisting  of  the  Norman  donjon-keep  and 
Talbot's  tower,  the  last  a  noble  piece  of  masonry,  built 
by  the  famous  Englishman  Talbot,  warden  of  the 
Norman  marches. 

Henry  V.  of  England  besieged  this  castle  in   1418. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  247 

It  withstood  him  for  four  months.  Between  1418  and 
1450  Talbot  built  the  tower  which  bears  his  name  ;  it 
is  more  than  a  hundred  feet  high,  and  the  walls  are 
fifteen  feet  in  thickness;  there  are  four  stories  in  it,  of 
which  the  floors  remain  ;  a  winding  stair  leads  to  the 
roof,  from  whence  is  a  magnificent  view.  The  Castle 
of  Falaise  was  besieged  by  Henri  Quatre  in  1559.  It 
held  out  against  his  cannon  for  only  seven  days,  and  the 
breach  in  the  wall  by  which  he  took  the  castle  by  assault 
still  remains.  Altogether,  this  fortress  has  sustained 
nine  sieges,  one  from  William  the  Conqueror  himself 
when  quite  a  lad. 

At  the  foot  of  the  rocky  height  from  which  the 
castle  rises  winds  the  river  Ante,  pleasantly  shaded  by 
trees.  Beside  the  stream  are  the  washing-places  of  the 
towns\vomen,  as  they  also  were  in  the  far-off  days  of 
the  Norman  Duke. 

The  legend  relates  that  one  day,  looking  out  of  a 
window  of  the  lofty  castle  keep,  Robert  Count  of  Hiesmes, 
afterwards  Duke  Robert  the  Magnificent,  saw  Arlette 
washing  clothes  in  the  river  Ante.  She  was  very 
beautiful,  and  the  youth  at  once  fell  in  love  with  her. 
Arlette  was  the  daughter  of  a  tanner  of  the  town,  and 
neither  daughter  nor  father  seems  to  have  held  out  long 
against  the  young  Count's  love  and  importunity. 


248  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

The  son  born  to  Robert  and  Arlette  was  the  future 
conqueror  of  England,  born  in  the  castle, — so  says 
tradition, — and  a  little  room  is  still  shown  as  "Arlette's 
Bower." 

The  Count  of  Hiesmes  is  said  to  have  always  treated 
his  lowly  love  with  the  greatest  tenderness  and  con- 
sideration. After  his  death  Arlette  married  Herlwin 
of  Conteville.  Two  sons  were  the  fruits  of  this  marriage 
—both  destined  to  be  celebrated,  though  in  a  less  degree 
than  their  half-brother  William — Odo,  Archbishop  of 
Bayeux,  and  Robert,  Earl  of  Cornwall. 

From  Falaise  to  Mezidon,  and  thence  to  Honfleur, 
is  an  easy  journey,  and  there  is  something  in  Honfleur 
which  made  us  go  back  there  willingly,  although  we  had 
already  passed  through  it  after  leaving  Etretat.  Poor 
Honfleur  was  once  queen  of  the  Seine,  and  its  famous 
port  held  complete  command  across  the  mouth  of  the 
fair  river.  In  those  days  it  boasted  1 7,000  inhabitants, 
and  now  perhaps  it  does  not  possess  loco,  for  the  far 
more  modern  city  of  Havre  has  taken  all  the  wind  out 
of  its  sails,  and  mud  has  choked  its  harbour.  It  still 
sends  quantities  of  fruit,  butter,  and  eggs  to  England, 
and  the  apricots  of  Honfleur  are  renowned. 

Many  of  the  old  wooden  houses  are  picturesque, 
and  the  market-place  is  very  quaint,  as  the  illustration 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  249 

shows.      But  the  great  attraction   is   the  charming  walk 
up  the  shady  side  of  a   hill   looking  over  the   Seine   to 


MARKET-PLACE,    HONFI.EUR. 


the  pilgrimage   chapel  of  Notre-Dame  de  Grace,  and 
the  view  from  the  Calvary  here  is  most  striking. 


250  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

The  chapel  is  very  interesting,  full  of  votive  offerings 
of  sailors  who  have  escaped  shipwreck,  and  of  others 
about  to  embark  on  a  long  voyage. 

Around  Honfleur,  and  more  especially  between 
Havre  and  Caudebec,  a  pleasant  feature  of  the  country 
is  the  Norman  farm-house,  embosomed  in  orchards  with 
thatched  roof  and  neatly-kept  barns,  in  great  contrast 
to  its  Breton  neighbours,  where  pigs  roam  freely  where 
they  please,  and  where  the  corn  is  threshed  by  hand  in 
the  farm-yard,  or  outside  the  house-door  ;  but  spite  of 
these  evidences  of  civilisation,  superstitions  are  as  rife  in 
Normandy  as  they  are  in  Brittany,  especially  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Pont-Audemer,  where  the  belief  in 
fourolles  is  firmly  established.  The  fourolle  is  a  woman 
who  has  committed  sacrilege,  and  for  this  sin  is  doomed 
for  seven  years  to  wander  at  night  as  a  will  o'  th'  wisp. 
She  does  not  seem  to  have  the  power  of  working  as 
much  mischief  as  the  feu-follet,  who  is  supposed  to  be  a 
sinful  priest,  but  she  is  doomed  to  wander,  terrifying 
and  terrified  by  travellers.  If  any  one  addresses  the 
fourolle  by  her  real  name,  while  she  is  dreeing  her 
penance,  her  term  of  seven  years  begins  once  again. 

The  drive  between  Honfleur  and  Pont-Audemer  is 
charming,  full  of  beauty  and  special  points  of  interest, 
and  it  was  while  taking  this  drive  that  we  learned  the 
tradition  of  the  fourolle. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  251 


foe  rtje  Kille* 

A  LEGEND  OF  PONT-AUDEMER. 

CHAPTER  I. 

A  FENCING  MATCH. 

MADEMOISELLE  Louis  COURBON  has  a  very  thoughtful 
look  on  her  fair  freckled  face,  and  her  round  green  eyes 
have  a  sadness  in  them  that  is  quite  unusual  ;  for 
Mademoiselle,  although  no  longer  young,  is  as  merry  as 
ever  she  was,  and  her  plump,  round,  little  well-dressed 
figure  and  smiling  face  are  always  to  be  found  when 
amusement  is  going  on  in  Pont-Audemer.  Her  round 
very  green  eyes  are  puzzlers  :  sometimes  they  are  full 
of  innocent  open  wonder,  and  then  they  give  through 
the  half-shut  yellow  eye-lashes  long  glances,  which  can 
only  be  called  furtive.  She  is  an  orphan,  but  her 
parents  left  her  that  little  half-timbered  tumbledown 
house  beside  the  Rille,  with  its  gable  atop  and  washing- 
place  below.  This  last  is  a  source  of  revenue,  for  the 
river  washes  the  basements  of  the  multiform  picturesque 
dwellings  beside  it,  and  Louise  lets  out  the  washing- 
shed  to  about  twenty-laundresses,  a  set  of  merry  hard- 


252  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

working  souls,  as  diligent  at  blackening  their  neighbours' 
characters  as  they  are  at  soaping  their  linen. 

Louise  ekes  out  her  slender  income  by  dressmaking  ; 
that  is  to  say,  she  will  make  dresses,  and  bonnets  and  caps 
also,  for  a  chosen  few.  She  works  for  Madame  C.,  the  wife 
of  that  citizen  who  celebrated  his  retirement  from  the 
office  of  mayor  by  building,  on  the  top  of  the  steep  green 
hill  which  closes  in  one  end  of  the  town,  the  staring  white 
house  which  "  swears  "  —  as  the  natives  say  —  with 
everything  else  in  Pont-Audemer ;  she  has  also  worked 
for  Madame  Trajon,  the  wife  of  the  lawyer  and  town- 
clerk  ;  and  for  old  friendship's  sake  she  now  and  then 
makes  a  gown  for  the  handsomest  girl  in  Pont-Audemer, 
Franchise  Gerard.  But  this  is  a  condescension  ;  the 
dressmaker  considers  Frangoise  her  equal ;  and  it  is  not 
for  the  girl's  sake  that  she  makes  the  gowns,  but  for 
that  of  Louis  Perreyve,  a  young  soldier,  far  away  now, 
whom  Louise  loves  as  though  he  were  her  young  brother. 

Louise  Courbon  is  in  a  hurry  to-day,  and  so,  instead 
of  lingering  beside  the  lovely  Rille — merry  with  its 
shedfuls  of  chattering,  laughing  washerwomen,  noisy 
with  the  whirr  of  the  bark-mills  which  show  beside  the 
stream,  among  the  quaint  half-timbered  and  red-brick 
houses  backed  by  lofty  poplar-trees,  the  green  hill  rising 
above  them  all — we  must  go  on  with  her  along  the  quay 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  253 

— for  Louise  has  crossed  the  bridge,  and  there  is  a  stone- 
bordered  quay  on  this  side  the  water,  with  little  flights 
of  steps,  up  which  girls  come  slowly,  so  as  not  to  upset 
the  tall  well-shaped  brown  pitchers  poised  on  their 
heads. 

Half-way  along  the  quay  Louise  turns  on  the  right 
into  a  small  narrow  street,  and  crosses  the  bridge  in  the 
middle  of  it.  On  each  side  of  the  canal — for  here  is 
one  of  the  many  branches  of  the  poor  hard-worked  river 
Rille — old  tumbledown  wooden  houses  go  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  reflecting  their  grim  and  scarred  old  faces 
in  the  stream,  with  here  and  there  bright  flowered 
nasturtium  wreaths  clinging  to  the  old  gray  boards  or 
moss-grown  tiles. 

The  water  is  low  to-day,  for  a  dark  line  and  a  growth 
of  tiny  creeping  plants  on  the  foundations  of  the  old 
houses  show  that  it  is  sometimes  a  foot  or  so  higher, 
and  at  such  high  tides  the  white-capped  woman  who  is 
now  kneeling  on  a  flat  stone,  and  beating  the  red  shirt 
under  her  hands  so  vehemently  with  her  wooden  bat, 
would  surely  be  under  water  if  she  tried  to  wash  in  the 
river  as  it  flows  by  her  house.  At  the  back  window  of 
one  of  the  houses  on  the  left  Louise  sees  a  face  she 
knows,  and  begins  to  nod.  Then,  instead  of  following 
the  street  to  its  end  on  the  market-place,  she  takes  a 


254  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

narrow  turning  on  the  left,  parallel  with  the  quay  and 
also  with  the  Grande  Place  below. 

She  looks  yet  more  serious  as  she  stops  at  a  door, 
and  then,  after  knocking-,  enters. 

"  Go  into  the  front  parlour,  Mademoiselle,"  a  wel- 
coming voice  says  from  a  room  at  the  back  ;  "be  kind 
enough  to  wait,  and  I  am  with  you  directly." 

The  welcoming  voice  has  a  fat  wheezy  sound,  and 
Mademoiselle  Louise's  face  is  yet  graver. 

"  Wicked  old  hypocrite  !"  she  says,  her  freckled  face 
growing  white  with  anger — a  greenish  white,  which  does 
not  beautify  Mademoiselle — "giving  herself  such  airs, 
too !"  and  then  she  looks  round  the  room  with  a  sigh  of 
envy,  for  small  as  it  is  there  is  no  room  like  it  in  Font- 
Audemer. 

The  floor  is  very  dark  and  highly  polished,  so  that 
even  well-practised  Mademoiselle  Louise  walks  thereon 
with  caution.  The  panelled  walls,  painted  a  bluish 
white,  and  the  white  lace  curtains,  are  like  the  walls  and 
curtains  of  many  another  house  in  Pont-Audemer  ;  but 
where  else  will  you  see  such  a  richly  carved  oak-beam 
across  the  ceiling,  or  such  a  fine  sculptured  mantelshelf, 
or  find  such  carved  oak  chests  and  cabinets  of  different 
shape  and  size,  but  all  manifestly  genuine  antiques  and 
in  good  preservation  ?  Truth  to  tell,  their  owner  is  a 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  255 

dealer  in  such  works.  There  is  a  chest  of  Louis  Treize 
period,  with  a  "  Last  Supper  "  carved  thereon,  that  any 
connoisseur  must  long  to  possess,  and  on  one  of  the 
others,  a  tall  narrow  bit  of  rich  carving  shaped 
like  a  what-not,  are  three  tall  Venice  glasses  with 
flower-shaped  bells  and  slender-twisted  stems.  There 
is  a  wealth  of  colour  in  these  old  glasses,  gold  and  blue, 
green  and  opal,  full  of  all  hues,  and  softening  all.  A 
Persian  rug  in  front  of  the  fireplace,  glowing  with  rich 
colour,  makes  the  faded  blue  curtains  which  screen  the 
hearth  yet  more  faint  in  hue,  for  though  it  is  autumn 
the  weather  is  still  warm  at  Pont-Audemer. 

On  a  small  oak  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
are  some  admirable  photographs  in  standing  frames, 
and  in  the  centre  of  these  is  a  glassful  of  exquisite 
flowers — myrtle  and  jessamine. 

"  It  must  be  the  miller  who  gives  these  flowers," 
says  Louise,  with  a  very  sour  look  on  her  usually  good- 
natured  mouth.  "  He  has  come  to  gifts,  then,  already, 
has  he  ?  I  am  not  one  day  too  soon  if  I  want  to  help 
Francoise.  I'll  see  if  I  cannot  be  one  too  many  for 
Mother  Therese." 

There  is  a  gasping  noise  in  the  passage,  but  no 
sound  of  footsteps. 

"  She  creeps  about  like  a  mouse,  sly  old  toad,"  says 


=56  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

the  irate  dressmaker ;  "  I  know  her  ways  ;  she  shall 
not  catch  me  tripping." 

And  she  plants  herself  at  the  door,  her  eyes  round 
with  innocent  wonder. 

"  Be  welcome  then,  my  good  friend,"  the  wheezy 
waddling  dame  says,  as  she  appears,  and  her  florid 
brick-dust  coloured  face  is  creased  with  a  smile,  which 
somehow  always  has  the  effect  of  a  grin  in  the  small 
black  twinkling  eyes  of  Madame  Gerard.  She  is  fat 
and  round  and  smiling,  but  she  is  not  genial-looking, 
her  small  keen  eyes  are  set  too  near,  and  look  across 
one  another,  her  lips  are  thin  and  colourless,  and  as 
she  has  lost  her  front  teeth,  her  tongue  shows  in  a 
disfiguring  manner  when  she  laughs.  She  wears  a 
black  silk  dress,  and  a  cap  trimmed  with  lace  and 
purple  ribbon,  and  her  hands  are  small  and  soft,  in 
spite  of  their  wrinkles.  "You  are  just  the  person  I 
need.  I  have  a  nice  dress,  Mademoiselle,  and  it  will 
be  charming  if  you  will  only  consent  to  make  it  up  for 
me." 

Louise's  round  eyes  change  in  an  instant  to  green 
slits,  but  she  forces  a  smile  to  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  but  you  ask  me  an  impossibility,  Madame 
Gerard.  What  can  I  do  ?  I  refuse  the  wife  of  Simon 
the  butcher.  I  refuse  Madame  Fouquier  of  the  Grande 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  257 

Rue.  I  have  indeed  refused  Madame  Mousseline  her- 
self at  the  Pot-d'Acier.  What  can  I  do  ?  I  offend  all 
the  rest  of  my  neighbours  if  I  work  for  one  and 
refuse  the  others." 

While  her  visitor  speaks,  Madame  Gerard  has 
waddled  to  the  old  yellow  sofa,  and  she  pats  the  wide 
seat  with  her  little  brown  hand  as  an  invitation  to 
Mademoiselle  Louise. 

"  Bah," — for  the  dressmaker  has  stopped  for  breath 
— "  who  are  all  these  people  ?  You  will  not  surely 
confound  me — the  widow  of  a  distinguished  artist — 
with  the  wives  of  the  butcher  and  grocer,  or  with 
Madame  Mousseline  of  the  Pot-d'Acier.  I  should 
think  not,  indeed  !"  She  rubs  her  hands  together,  and 
there  is  malice  in  her  little  black  eyes. 

Up  go  Louise's  shoulders  in  a  shrug  that  brings 
them  near  her  ears.  She  feels  spiteful,  and  a  red  spot 
glows  in  each  cheek.  "  An  artist !"  she  says  to  herself; 
"that  is  not  much.  But  Gerard  was  not  even  an 
artist ;  he  made  photographs,  and  bought  old  furni- 
ture." Then,  to  Madame  Gerard  :  "  It  is  all  the  same, 
Madame,  these  ladies  consider  you  their  equal.  You 
see  we  do  not  always  estimate  ourselves  rightly. 
However,  at  present  I  am  busier  than  I  care  to  be," 

S 


258  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

she  adds  with  dignity.  Then,  in  a  tone  of  forced  care- 
lessness, "Is  Frangoise  at  home?" 

Madame  Gerard's  face  does  not  change,  but  her 
small  eyes  are  full  of  war. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  the  dear  child  is  at  home,  but  she  is 
busy.  I  will  give  her  any  message,  Mademoiselle 
Louise." 

Instead  of  answering,  Mademoiselle  Courbon,  who 
has  remained  standing,  runs  out  of  the  room  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  crying,  "  Franchise,  Frangoise,  where 
are  you  ? " 

Madame  Gerard  waddles  along  the  passage  as  fast 
as  she  can  go,  but  Louise  is  already  half-way  up  the 
old-fashioned  staircase. 

On  the  landing  she  pauses,  half-strangled,  for  a 
young  girl  has  sprung  down  the  upper  flight  and  flung 
both  arms  round  her  friend's  neck. 

"  Come  down,"  she  says,  "  why  should  you  have 
the  trouble  of  climbing,  Louise  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  come  down  !  "  in  a  gasping  shriek  from 
below,  for  Madame  Gerard  has  reached  the  foot  of  the 
stairs. 

"  Franchise," — Louise  looks  up  at  her  tall  elegant 
friend  with  angry  eyes — "  I  want  to  talk  to  you  alone, 
let  us  go  up." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  259 

But  tall  strong  Francoise  has  put  both  hands  on 
her  little  friend's  shoulders,  and  she  pushes  her  towards 
the  lower  flight. 

"  No,  not  to-day,"  she  smiles  ;  "  how  can  I  disobey 
my  mother,  Louise?" 

At  this  Louise's  eyes  contract,  and  she  gives  a 
green  gleam  -at  the  handsome  wilful  creature  who  has 
so  suddenly  remembered  her  obedience.  She  keeps 
silence,  however,  till  they  are  all  three  in  the  parlour 
again. 

"  Is  it  true,  Franchise,  this  that  I  hear,"  impetu- 
ously, "  that  you  are  letting  yourself  be  courted  by 
Emile  Constant  ?" 

The  dark-eyed,  dark-browed  girl  bends  her  head 
and  twists  her  long  fingers  together.  Her  mother's 
eyes  twinkle  keenly. 

"  Good  Louise,  you  doubt  no  one,  you  believe  all 
you  hear.  What  sweet  innocence  at  your  age !" 

Louise  turns  her  back  on  Madame  GeVard's  smiles. 
"  I  wait  an  answer  from  you,  Frangoise,"  she  says. 

Frangoise  has  handsome  features,  brilliant  eyes,  and 
good  dark  hair ;  but  she  has  a  pale  sallow  skin,  and 
now  this  is  becoming  suffused  with  red,  and  she  looks 
abject  and  ready  to  cry. 

"Monsieur  Constant,"  she  says  fretfully,  "yes,  he 


260  PICTURES  A ND  LEGENDS 

comes  to  see  us.  Mother,  you  said  there  was  no  harm 
in  his  visits  ;  why  don't  you  tell  Louise  so  ?" 

The  little  dressmaker  takes  firm  hold  of  the  twining 
fingers,  and  fixes  her  eyes  on  the  confused  face.  She 
sees  a  struggle  in  it,  but  she  cannot  be  sure  what  this 
means ;  she  fears  by  a  word  even  to  injure  the  cause 
she  has  come  to  plead,  and  yet  she  must  speak. 

"Would  Louis  Perreyve  like  to  hear  of  Monsieur 
Constant's  visits  ? "  she  says  in  a  low  voice. 

It  is  unfortunate  that  Louise  is  so  short,  for  Fran- 
c_oise  sees  over  her  the  shakes  of  the  head  and  the 
expressive  frowns  of  that  wonderfully  placid -faced 
mother  ;  it  is  very  curious  that  out  of  such  a  flat  shape- 
less lump  of  flesh  such  rapid  flashes  can  emanate. 
Those  little  restless  eyes  do  it  all,  though  perhaps  the 
lipless  wide  mouth  gives  force  and  a  kind  of  cruelty  to 
the  sharp  glances. 

Frangoise  tosses  her  head. 

"  Louis  is  not  a  tyrant,  and  he  would  say  I  was 
impertinent  if  I  objected  to  my  mother's  visitors." 

Louise  squeezes  the  girl's  fingers  till  she  hurts 
them.  Madame  Gerard  tries  to  put  in  her  word,  but 
the  little  woman  will  not  be  stopped. 

"Listen  ;"  as  the  girl  pulls  her  hands  away,  Louise 
turns  suddenly  and  stands  sideways  between  mother  and 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  261 

daughter.  "I'll  do  nothing  underhand;  but  remember, 
Madame  Gerard,  you  let  your  girl  promise  herself  to  Louis 
Perreyve  in  my  presence,  and  but  for  old  Eustache  you 
would  have  let  her  marry  him  too.  Well  then,  because 
Eustache  Perreyve  has  lost  his  money  and  Louis  will 
be  a  poor  man,  is  he  to  be  cast  off  for  a  rich  new 
comer  like  Emile  Constant  ?  Shame  on  you,  Therese 
Gerard." 

Madame  Gerard  snaps  her  fingers  in  Louise's  face. 

"  Shame  on  you,  you  meddler.  What  call  have  you 
to  be  keeping  guard  over  a  fine  girl  like  Franchise, 
with  a  mother  to  protect  her  ?  But  single  women  are 
all  alike  :  they  think  every  chance  a  girl  gets  is  so 
much  taken  from  themselves.  I  suppose  you  have  an 
eye  to  Monsieur  Constant." 

Louise  keeps  her  eyes  fixed  on  Franchise's  face. 
She  smiles  scornfully  at  the  last  words. 

"  Well,  Madame,  I  have  done  my  part ;  but  when 
Monsieur  Constant  comes  to  Pont-Audemer  again  I  shall 
tell  him  all  I  know.  He  is  not  one  to  be  content  with 
another  man's  leavings." 


262  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

CHAPTER  II. 

A  FOUROLLE. 

PONT-AUDEMER  is  a  small  town.  It  has  a  large,  grand 
old  church,  and  a  large  market-place ;  besides  this 
there  is  one  long  street,  the  Grande  Rue,  with  the  country 
rising  up  in  a  green  hill  at  each  end,  and  the  street  in 
which  Louise  lives,  on  each  side  of  the  Rille,  which 
runs  through  it ;  besides  these  there  are  little  narrow 
turnings  which  connect  the  two  wide  streets  and  traverse 
the  canals  which  work  the  tan-mills.  On  this  account, 
as  every  one  sees  every  one  else  at  church  or  in  the 
market,  news  spreads  quickly  in  Pont-Audemer. 

Louise  Courbon  knows  this  well,  and  she  says  to 
herself  as  she  walks  home  : — 

"  If  Emile  Constant  did  not  live  all  by  himself  at 
Montfort,  he  would  have  known  long  ago  that  FranQoise 
is  promised  to  Louis  Perreyve." 

But  to-morrow  is  market  morning,  and  it  is  quite 
possible  for  Louise  to  walk  beside  the  river  on  the  way 
to  Montfort,  and  meet  Monsieur  Constant  as  he  goes  to 
market. 

"  I  will  tell  him  FranQoise  is  promised,  and  I  will 
tell  him  something  else — something  you  do  not  quite 
count  on,  Mother  Therese." 


OLD   HOUSES,  PONT-AUDEMER. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  263 

Next  morning  is  full  of  drizzling  rain,  the  river  looks 
a  dull  gray  as  she  walks  beside  it,  and  the  leaves  of  the 
poplar-trees  hang  down  heavily — they  are  so  wet  that 
they  scarcely  tremble  on  their  slender  stems. 

Almost  as  she  leaves  her  house,  some  one  comes 
limping  along  and  takes  off  his  cap  to  Louise — a  tall 
stiff-looking  man  in  a  blouse  and  canvas  trousers.  He 
does  not  wear  a  beard,  but  his  long  gray  moustaches 
give  him  a  military  aspect,  and  he  is  truly  an  old  soldier 
of  the  First  Napoleon  ;  but  his  lameness  disqualified 
him  early,  and  he  earns  a  peaceful  living  as  a  gardener 
at  Pont-Audemer. 

"  Good-morning,  Monsieur  Perreyve,"  Louise  nods 
and  smiles  ;  "  is  there  any  news  of  Louis  ?" 

"  Good-day,  Louise  ;  there  is  no  news  of  my  boy, 
and  I  hear  he  is  going  to  the  frontier,  so  there  is  no 
hope  of  seeing  him  perhaps  for  months  ;  but  where  are 
you  off  to  so  early,  my  beauty  ?" 

He  shuts  one  eye  and  laughs  slily  ;  he  has  no  idea 
of  making  fun  of  Louise — to  him  she  is  always  the 
young  fresh  girl  of  seventeen  who  grew  old  and  staid 
all  in  one  night  when  the  news  came  that  Gaspard 
Perreyve,  Louis'  eldest  brother,  had  fallen  in  Algeria, 
fighting  bravely.  The  news  killed  Madame  Perreyve, 
and  Louise  set  aside  her  own  grief  to  comfort  the  widower 
and  his  son  Louis,  then  a  boy  of  ten  years  old. 


264  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

Louise  looks  round  sharply,  and  a  tinge  of  colour 
spreads  over  her  freckled  face. 

"  You  should  take  care,  Monsieur  Perreyve  ;  it  is 
better  to  pay  a  compliment  in-doors." 

"Ah,  mon  Dieu,  is  she  not  original  !"— he  bursts 
into  a  peal  of  laughter,  and  at  last  he  pulls  off  his  cap 
and  takes  out  of  it  a  yellow  and  blue  handkerchief,  with 
which  he  wipes  his  eyes.  "  A  compliment !"  he  murmurs 
amid  his  laughter.  "  Ma  foi,  but  she  is  original." 

Louise  has  something  more  to  say,  and  she  gets 
impatient  as  he  breaks  into  fresh  laughter,  and  puts 
her  hand  rather  firmly  on  his  arm. 

"  But,  my  friend,  do  listen  :  I  say  it  is  a  pity  Louis 
does  not  come  home  to  look  after  Francoise." 

"Mille  tonnerres!" — he  leaves  off  laughing  and 
looks  as  blustering  as  if  he  still  wore  a  uniform  ; 
Louise  knows  him  too  well  to  trust  him  further — he 
has  no  discretion,  this  simple  old  gardener,  and  he  would 
be  capable  of  walking  up  to  Emile  Constant  on  the 
Grande  Place  and  boxing  his  ears,  if  he  were  told  that 
the  miller  had  dared  to  visit  his  son's  betrothed. 

"  Good-day,"  she  nods  and  smiles,  and  hurries  on 
at  a  pace  which  she  knows  poor  limping  Eustache  can- 
not attempt. 

The  river  takes  a  bend,  and  she  is  soon  out  of  sight 
of  the  houses.  It  is  a  lovely  walk,  spite  of  the  drizzling 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  265 

rain,  but  Louise  is  absorbed  in  looking  out  for  the  rich 
miller  of  Montfort. 

Here  he  comes  at  last  on  a  tall  gray  horse, 
which  he  sits  so  as  to  resemble  one  of  his  own  corn 
sacks. 

Louise  has  never  spoken  to  him,  but  that  does  not 
stand  in  her  way.  She  knows  him  well  enough  by 
sight — has  she  not  lately  watched  him  come  out  four 
times  from  the  house  of  Mother  Therese  ?  Louise  drops 
a  curtsey  as  he  comes  up  to  her. 

On  nearer  inspection,  Monsieur  Constant  looks 
rather  like  a  pudding  with  a  dumpling  atop — or  perhaps 
like  a  home-baked  loaf;  his  face  is  pale  and  round,  he 
wears  a  large  round  straw  hat  and  a  brown  holland 
blouse  ;  he  has  staring  dull  blue  eyes  and  a  small  round 
mouth,  and  these  features  open  widely  when  Made- 
moiselle Courbon  curtseys.  He  takes  off  his  hat,  but 
his  curiosity  will  not  suffer  him  to  pass  on. 

"Your  servant,  Mademoiselle.  You  are  doubtless 
an  inhabitant  of  Pont-Audemer,  whose  acquaintance  I 
have  yet  the  pleasure  to  make." 

"The  pleasure  is  not  certain,  Monsieur" — Louise 
speaks  carelessly  ;  as  a  short  woman,  she  has  a  natural 
contempt  for  this  stout  pigmy  on  the  tall  gray  horse ; 
"but  I  have  to  make  you,  Monsieur,  acquainted  with 


266  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

some  matters,  and  as  they  are  private,  it  seems  to  me 
you  had  better  get  down  and  hear  them." 

Where  the  miller's  eyebrows  should  be,  thick  red 
semicircles  rise  towards  the  roots  of  his  scanty  hair, 
his  eyes  glance  mournfully  towards  his  little  gaitered 
legs,  and  the  corners  of  his  mouth  droop  as  much  as  is 
possible. 

"  Mademoiselle."  he  says,  puffing  out  each  word  as 
if  blowing  soap  bubbles,  "  I  am  enchanted  to  receive 
your  confidences,  but — but  it  is  difficult  for  me  to 
descend  without  assistance — and — I  might  injure  my 
legs." 

Louise  sneers  till  her  nose  turns  up  more  than 
ever. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  she  says  ;  "  I'll  hold  your  horse, 
and  you  can  lean  on  my  shoulder." 

"Ah — you — are  very  kind — Mademoiselle,"  he  puffs 
more  than  ever,  but  he  sits  still  in  his  saddle. 

"  Mademoiselle" — he  looks  slowly  round  and  then 
settles  himself  comfortably — "  I  see  no  one  but  the 
ducks  in  the  river ;  if  you  will  have  the  complaisance 
to  stand  close  beside  me  I  will  bend  down  as  much  as 
possible" — he  propels  out  each  word — "and  I  will  thus 
receive  your  information.  Ahem." 

"  Little  fool,"  Louise  thinks  ;   but  she  is  too  anxious 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  267 

to  lose  more  time,  and  seeing  that  Constant  has  grown 
purple  in  the  effort  to  bend  down  towards  her.  she 
goes  close  up  to  the  horse. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  says  gravely,  "are  you  not  courting 
Mademoiselle  Franchise  Gerard  ?" 

Monsieur  sits  suddenly  upright. 

"  I — I — I — by  what  right,  Mademoiselle,  do  you 
ask  me  such  a  question  ?" 

"  Right?" — Louise  is  puzzled  fora  moment.  "Well, 
Monsieur,  if  I  saw  a  man  robbing  you  of  your  hand- 
kerchief I  should  cry  out,  and  you  would  thank  me 
instead  of  asking  for  my  right ;  but  I  forget,  in  this 
case  it  is  you  who  are  the  thief,  Fran^oise  is  the  hand- 
kerchief, and  Louis  Perreyve  is  the  miller  of  Mont- 
fort." 

"Louis  Perreyve  a  miller?" — in  his  puzzle  he 
forgets  to  puff — "you  mistake,  Mademoiselle.  I  have 
been  told  that  Monsieur  Perreyve  is  in  the  army  of  the 
North." 

"Listen  to  me"  —  she  speaks  sharply.  "Before 
Louis  went  away  he  was  betrothed  to  Franchise  GeVard, 
in  my  presence — do  you  hear? — in  my  presence" — she 
calls  this  loudly,  for  Monsieur  Constant  has  turned  his 
face  away  from  her  observant  eyes. 

"  I  hear,  Mademoiselle,"  and  Louise  softens  when 


268  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

she  sees  that  tears  are  rolling  over  his  round  cheeks  ; 
"but — but  I  have  been  cruelly  treated" — there  is  a  sob 
in  his  voice.  "  Should  not  Madame  Gerard  have  told 
me  this  ?  I — I  am  attached  to  Mademoiselle  Fran- 
^oise," — he  puts  his  hand  on  his  heart. 

"And  you  knew  nothing  about  Louis  ?" 

"  Mademoiselle" — he  raises  his  head  and  puffs  more 
than  ever — "  for  what  do  you  take  me  ?  I  am  an  honest 
man,  I  tell  you,  and  Madame  Gerard  has  not  behaved 
like  an  honest  woman." 

"  Ah,  but  she  cannot ;  she  is  not  honest,  Monsieur. 
Do  you  not  know — I  am  afraid  to  say  it  aloud,  it  is  too 
terrible,  stoop  down  again — she  is" — in  a  loud  whisper 
— "a  fourolle?" 

She  crosses  herself  as  the  word  is  uttered,  and 
Constant  turns  as  white  as  ashes. 

"  How  do  you  know — can  it  be  proved  ?"  he 
whispers  back. 

"  It  could  soon  be  proved.  I  myself  have  seen  her 
go  out  at  night  when  she  thought  all  the  world  was  in 
bed,  for  when  I  was  younger  I  learned  my  trade  in  a 
house  opposite  hers.  No  one  knows  her  story,  but  you 
know  it  is  sin  that  makes  women  fourolles,  Monsieur 
Constant" — she  crosses  herself  again — "  and  when  she 
has  served  her  seven  years  to  the  Evil  One  she  will  be 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  269 

free,  unless  some  one  puts  out  her  light.  Ma  foi,  I 
would  do  it  cheerfully  if  I  could  only  meet  her." 

Constant  gets  paler  still,  and  draws  himself  farther 
from  the  excited  dressmaker. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  puffs,  "  I  wish  you  good-day — 
you  must  pardon  me — but  a  man  cannot  be  cheerful 
who  in  a  few  moments  has  had  the  happiness  of  his 
life  destroyed.  Oh  !" — he  burst  into  a  yell  of  despair, 
shook  the  reins  of  his  horse,  and  went  off  at  a  gallop. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  EX-CORPORAL  MEETS  HIS  MATCH. 

"  MADAME  LE  GROS,  come  here,  if  you  please,  I  have 
a  commission  for  you." 

Eustache  has  stood  looking  after  Louise,  his  cap  in 
one  hand  and  his  yellow  handkerchief  in  the  other,  for 
nearly  ten  minutes.  He  is  not  quick  at  comprehension, 
but  the  dressmaker's  words  have  stirred  him  strongly, 
and  he  casts  about  for  the  explanation  of  her  warning. 
If  she  knows  that  Francoise  wants  looking  after,  others 
may  know  it  too.  "  Mille  tonnerres !  I  must  do  my 
duty  to  Louis,  poor  boy.  Ah  !  why  did  he  tie  himself 
up  so  young  ?" 


270  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS. 

He  remembers  the  bundle  under  his  arm,  and  he 
comes  down  to  the  entrance  of  the  washing-shed,  and 
calls  for  Madame  Le  Gros. 

A  tall  thin  woman,  her  face  hidden  by  the  large 
pink  kerchief  tied  over  her  cap,  comes  up  from  the 
water,  rubbing  her  sinewy  arms  with  her  apron. 

"  Your  servant,  Mr.  Corporal  what  do  you  want  of 
me  ?" — among  the  women,  with  whom  he  is  a  favourite, 
Eustache  is  still  Monsieur  le  Caporal. 

As  Madame  Le  Gros  speaks,  an  idea  comes  into 
his  head. 

"Ma  foil"  he  says,"  it  is  wonderful  that  I  should 
have  come  here ;  among  such  a  party  of  gossips,  some 
one  must  know  why  Franchise  wants  to  be  taken  care 
of." 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  get  an  idea  and  quite 
another  to  be  able  to  use  it,  and  all  Eustache  does  is 
to  gaze  earnestly  in  the  face  of  the  tall  skinny  washer- 
woman and  hand  her  his  bundle. 

"  Thank  you,  Monsieur,  is  that  all  I  can  do — tenez ! 
What  ails  Monsieur  this  morning  ?" 

Her  sharp  wits  are  puzzled  by  the  corporal's  grave 
face,  for  Eustache  has  always  a  smile  and  a  joke  for  a 
woman. 

"Hold  !"  he  says,  for  she  looks  over  her  shoulder 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  271 

as  if  meditating  a  return  to  her  soaping  ;  "  yes,  yes,  I 
have  it ;  Madame,  my  good  neighbour,  have  you 
lately  seen  the  young  girl  named  Franchise  Gerard  ?" 

"  Dame — I  should  think  so.  Franchise  is  not  one 
of  those  who  keep  shut  up  within  four  walls." 

"  She  is  not  ill,  then  ?" — it  has  occurred  to  him 
that  Louise's  words  may  point  to  this  meaning. 

"  111  ?  no.  Why  should  she  be  ill  ?"  Madame  Le 
Gros  looks  mocking  and  inquisitive. 

"  I  do  not  know."  Eustache  feels  foiled,  and 
stares  at  the  washerwoman  till  she  laughs  in  his  face 

"  Well  " — he  speaks  angrily — "  a  girl  frets  after  a 
lover  sometimes,  when  he  is  away." 

Madame  Le  Gros  sets  both  her  arms  akimbo,  and 
shakes  her  head. 

"  Ta — ta — ta,  Frangoise  is  not  that  sort — one  goes 
another  comes.  She'll  never  marry  Louis  ;  ma  foi,  no." 

Eustache  frowns  fiercely,  and  as  she  turns  back  to 
her  washing,  he  grasps  her  arm. 

"  Say  what  you  mean — I'm  tired  of  the  hints  you 
women  fling  at  one  another.  What  do  you  mean  ? 
Who  has  Frangoise  put  in  my  son's  place  ?" 

He  roars  like  a  bull,  and  his  face  is  very  red  ;  and 
first  one  and  then  another  of  the  capped  and  kerchiefed 
washers  look  over  their  shoulders  as  they  kneel  beside 


272  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

the  Rille — then  they  gabble  fast  to  one  another  ;  and 
then,  as  Madame  Le  Gros  answers,  a  buzzing  chorus 
echoes  her  words — 

"  Monsieur  Emile  Constant  of  the  mill  at  Montfort." 

"  Constant  ?  I  don't  know  him.  What  is  he  like  ?" 
says  the  ex-corporal,  twirling  his  grey  moustaches  and 
looking  as  fierce  as  a  wolf. 

They  all  laugh — not  at  him,  but  at  his  question. 

"He  is  a  pudding" — "a  ball" — "one  of  his  own 
flour-sacks " — "  he  is  more  like  a  pair  of  bellows," 
Madame  Le  Gros  screams  till  her  voice  tops  the  rest 

"  He  will  be  in  town  to-day  for  the  market,"  says 
Eustache,  and  the  women  think  he  looks  bloodthirsty. 

"  Well,  Monsieur "  —  Le  Gros  pats  him  on  the 
shoulder — "  don't  be  too  hard  on  the  poor  little  man  ; 
he  can't  help  being  rich,  and  a  rich  man  to  TheVese 
Gerard  is  like  a  peach  to  a  wasp." 

"Bah!"  Eustache  breaks  away  from  her — he 
burns  to  meet  this  rival,  this  traitor,  who  steals  another 
man's  betrothed  in  his  absence.  His  plan  is  to  await 
him  in  the  market-place,  where  Constant  is  sure  to  be 
pointed  out  to  him  by  the  bystanders. 

"  Mother  Therese  !  What  does  it  matter  about 
Mother  TheYese  ? — the  man  knows  what  he  is  about" 

It  is  early  yet,  and  there  are  few  buyers  on  the 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  273 

Place.  The  sellers  are  still  busy  putting  up  their 
booths,  the  corn-market  is  at  one  end  under  shelter, 
and  although  there  seems  to  be  an  array  of  sacks  but 
few  of  the  owners  have  arrived. 

Eustache  looks  about  him  uneasily — a  hand  touches 
his  arm,  and  he  hears  the  gasping  voice  of  Madame 
Ge*rard.  She  usually  avoids  him,  to-day  she  greets 
him  with  a  sweet  smile. 

"  Ah,"  he  says,  without  answering  her  greeting, 
"you  will  do  as  well  as  any  one  ;  look  among  those 
men  yonder" — he  points  to  the  corn-market — "and 
tell  me  if  one  of  them  is  Emile  Constant,  the  miller  of 
Montfort." 

The"rese  gives  a  little  start,  for  she  sees  how  fiercely 
he  glares  at  her,  but  she  answers  quietly — 

"  No,  he  is  not  there — at  least  I  think  not,  for  in 
truth  I  know  little  of  him  ;  but,  Monsieur  Perreyve,  what 
business  can  you  have  with  the  miller  of  Montfort  ?" 

Her  look  of  simple  surprise  puzzles  him. 

"  Well,  Madame  " — he  takes  off  his  cap  and  wipes 
his  hot  face  with  his  handkerchief — "you  know  better 
than  I  do,  perhaps.  I  have  a  reckoning  to  settle  with 
this  miller,  and  if  you  like  you  can  stay  and  hear  me 
call  him  to  account  for  trying  to  come  between  my 
son  and  your  daughter." 


274  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

He  holds  his  head  angrily  erect,  and  towers  like  a 
storm-cloud  over  the  round,  waddling  woman. 

Her  face  beams  placidly,  but  the  little  bead-like 
eyes  are  very  restless.      She  does  not  answer  directly — 
she  has  not  dreamed  that  Louise  would  carry  out  her 
threat  so  soon. 

At  last  she  says  pleasantly — 

"  Come,  come,  Monsieur  Perreyve,  why  should  we 
quarrel  ?  Monsieur  Constant  will  not  be  here  for  an 
hour.  Come  home  with  me,  and  I  will  explain  to  you 
all  I  know  of  the  matter,  and  you  can  talk  to  Francoise; 
believe  me  I  am  on  your  side." 

Eustache  believes  in  women — he  always,  when  he 
can  choose  between  the  sexes,  prefers  to  blame  a  man, 
and  now  as  he  has  time  to  spare,  he  thinks  he  will  go 
with  Madame  Gerard — her  house  being  so  near  the 
corn-market — and  hear  what  she  has  to  say. 

She  opens  her  house-door,  waddles  to  the  stair- 
foot,  and  calls  for  Francoise.  No  answer  comes. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Monsieur  Perreyve,"  she  says  politely. 
"Francoise  must  have  gone  out  in  my  absence;  but  if 
you  will  take  the  trouble  to  sit  down,  I  can,  I  believe, 
tell  you  the  state  of  the  case."  She  sits  down  and 
gasps,  but  Eustache  stands  sullenly  upright  "  Monsieur 
Emile  Constant,"  she  wheezes,  "  has  eyes  in  his  head, 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  275 

and  he  sees  how  handsome  the  child  is.  I  suppose 
neighbours  see  him  look  at  her — doubtless  they  see 
him  pay  me  visits.  But,  Monsieur,  when  I  say  to 
Francoise,  '  Thou  must  not  encourage  Monsieur  Con- 
stant/ she  answers — for  the  child  is  quite  innocent  of 
harm — 'Why  not,  mother;  thou  dost  not  think  Louis 
would  be  jealous  of  a  silly  little  ball  of  a  man  like  the 
miller.  Louis  would  laugh  at  him/" 

Eustache  frowns. 

"  I  will  wait  and  see  Franchise,  Madame  ;  you  call 
it  innocence,  I  call  it  coquetry,  for  a  girl  to  trifle  with 
one  man  when  she  belongs  to  another — especially  when 
the  new  man  is  rich." 

"  Oh,  Monsieur  " — Therese  smiles  and  pats  his  arm 
— "remember  a  handsome  girl  is  like  a  flower,  she 
takes  all  the  sunshine  and  gives  none  back.  You  need 
not  fear  Francoise ;  make  yourself  easy  and  trust  to 
me." 

But  while  she  smiles  up  at  him  there  is  such  evil 
in  her  eyes  that  Eustache,  spite  of  himself,  doubts  more 
than  ever. 

"No,"  he  says  impetuously;  "that's  just  what  I 
can't  do.  I  can't  feel  easy  till  I've  told  that  confounded 
miller  to  keep  his  eyes  to  himself.  So  by  your  leave 
Madame,  I'll  go  back  to  the  market  and  wait  for  him." 


276  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"Imprudent  fool,  he  brings  it  on  himself;"  her 
eyes  gleam  fiercely,  then  she  says  aloud,  carelessly, 
"  Well,  Monsieur,  do  as  you  please ;  but  Frangoise  will 
grieve  to  have  missed  you.  She  was  talking  of  you 
this  morning  ;  she  shall  be  so  proud  of  her  tall,  handsome 
father,  she  says." 

Eustache  leaves  off  frowning. 

"  Did  she  say  so,  little  rogue  ?"  and  he  strokes  his 
moustache  complacently.  "  Well,  Madame,  you  will 
say  to  her  that  she  might  sometimes  come  and  see  me 
— she  is  always  welcome." 

"  Ah,  Monsieur,  the  poor  child  ;  how  could  she  be 
sure  of  that  when  you  were  so  determined  that  the 
marriage  should  be  put  off?  But  your  message  will 
make  my  Frangoise  quite  gay.  Come,  Monsieur,  before 
you  go  let  us  drink  a  glass  to  the  success  of  our  son 
Louis  in  the  army  of  the  North." 

Eustache  has  two  weaknesses — his  own  good  looks 
and  cognac,  and  Mother  Therese  knows  them  both. 
She  has  only  one  bottle  and  a  few  glasses  inside  the 
tall  oak  cabinet  with  the  Venetian  goblets  at  top,  but 
she  fumbles  as  if  she  were  choosing  from  a  store  as  her 
head  disappears  behind  the  carved  open  door. 

She  emerges  presently  with  a  small  round  black 
bottle  and  two  glasses ;  she  pours  the  liquor  into  these 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  277 

on  the  top  of  the  cabinet,  and  then  offers  one  to 
Eustache  and  puts  her  lips  to  the  other. 

The  ex-corporal  smacks  his  lips.  "  Mille  tonnerres, 
Madame,  but  this  is  good,  good,  good  " — his  eyes  stray 
to  the  bottle  as  he  sets  down  his  empty  glass. 

"Ma  foi,  Monsieur" — her  restless  eyes  might  have 
warned  Eustache  if  his  eyes  had  not  been  fixed  on  the 
bottle — "  we  are  a  clever  pair.  Between  us  we  have 
forgotten  to  drink  the  health  of  our  son  Louis — permit 
me." 

She  sets  his  glass  on  the  cabinet  and  bends  over  it 
while  she  fills  it. 

"  To  the  health  of  our  son — our  dear  son,  Louis." 
She  closes  her  eyes,  and  again  she  just  tastes  the 
brandy. 

Eustache  tosses  his  off ;  presently  he  looks  at  her 
with  a  dazed,  foolish  expression.  He  makes  a  step 
forward,  and  tries  to  speak,  but  only  mumbles,  and 
catches  at  the  sofa  to  save  himself  from  falling. 

"  Take  my  arm,"  says,  Madame  Gerard,  "  there  is 
no  time  to  lose,  my  friend.  We  will  go  and  find 
Monsieur  Constant." 

Eustache  takes  her  arm,  but  he  puts  out  his  other 
hand  and  reels  against  the  wall  of  the  passage. 

"Gently — gently,"   Madame    gasps,  but   her   eyes 


2;8  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

are  keen  as  a  knife  till  she  has  guided  him  safely  out 
of  the  house  and  across  the  empty  street  into  an  arch- 
way a  little  further  down,  where  there  is  a  heap  of 
empty  wine-barrels. 

He  does  not  speak  ;  he  follows  her  guidance  blindly, 
and  indeed  his  eyes  are  half-closed,  and  he  leans  on  her 
so  heavily  that  she  can  hardly  walk  beneath  his  weight. 
As  soon  as  she  gets  behind  the  barrels  she  stops. 

"  Lie  there,  meddling  fool,"  and  she  pushes  him 
with  all  her  strength. 

He  rouses,  makes  a  clutching  grasp,  and,  missing 
her,  falls  heavily  on  the  round  paving  stones  of  the  yard. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  FOUROLLE  MAKES  ANOTHER  CONQUEST. 

THERESE'S  flat  round  face  peeps  out  of  the  archway, 
the  street  is  empty,  and  she  goes  back  to  her  house. 
In  her  hurry,  for  she  knows  the  power  of  the  dose  she 
has  given,  and  feared  lest  Eustache  should  fall  in  the 
room,  she  left  the  glasses  on  the  table,  and  though 
she  is  hurrying  to  see  Monsieur  Constant,  she  goes  in 
to  remove  these  witnesses  of  her  interview  with  the 
ex-corporal. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  279 

She  opens  ttie  door  and  goes  in.  Standing  at  the 
entrance  to  the  parlour,  looking  into  the  room,  is  Louise 
Courbon. 

She  turns  quickly,  and  Therese  sees  how  pale  her 
face  is. 

"You  are  out  early  this  morning,  Madame,"  says 
the  dressmaker  ;  "  have  you  seen  Monsieur  Constant  ?" 
— for  the  thought  that  comes  to  Louise  as  her  quick  eye 
lights  on  the  \vine-glasses  is  that  the  matter  is  already 
settled,  and  that  Francoise  has  been  that  morning 
betrothed  to  the  miller  of  Montfort. 

Therese's  eyes  work  strangely,  and  she  too  turns  pale. 

"  Why  should  I  see  Monsieur  Constant  ?"  she  says. 
"What  does  the  girl  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  this,  Madame.  I  told  you  I  would  do 
nothing  sly,  and  to-day  I  have  told  Monsieur  Emile 
that  your  daughter  is  promised  to  Louis  Perreyve." 

Through  her  half-closed  lids  she  looks  keenly  at  the 
old  woman,  but  Therese's  face  is  smoother  than  it  was 
before. 

"  Magpies  must  chatter,  it  is  their  nature,"  she  says 
calmly.  "  I  should  not  dream  of  telling  my  private 
affairs  to  a  stranger." 

"  Though  you  give  a  drop  to  '  a  stranger'  at  this 
time  of  day,"  says  the  freckled  woman  with  stinging 


280  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

emphasis.     "  Good  day,  Mother  Therese,  I  may  chatter, 
but  I  am  not  a  will-o'-the-wisp." 

Therese  reddens,  but  she  wants  to  be  rid  of  her 
visitor,  and  so  lets  her  depart  unanswered  ;  then  she 
hastily  puts  away  the  wine-glasses  into  the  cabinet,  and 
takes  her  way  to  the  market. 

The  place  is  thronged,  but  scarcely  any  one  greets 
Therese.  The  Cure  of  St.  Ouen  as  he  passes  avoids 
the  chance  of  speaking  to  her. 

"  Did  you  see  ? '  'says  old  Nanon,  the  potato-seller, 
to  Julie,  the  vendor  of  red  cabbage  and  carrots  close  by, 
"  Monsieur  le  Cure  passes  Therese  Gerard  without  a 
word." 

"  Mon  Dieii  /"  and  gossiping  red-haired  Julie  clasps 
her  hands  in  horror,  and  repeats  to  her  next  neighbour 
that  old  Nanon  saw  Monsieur  le  Cure  sign  himself  as 
he  passed  Mother  Therese,  because  she  is  a  fourolle. 

"She  ought  to  be  burned  or  drowned,"  says  the 
next  neighbour  Rose,  and  she  goes  home  and  tells  her 
husband  that  Monsieur  le  Cure  of  St.  Ouen  says  Therese 
GeVard  ought  to  be  burned  or  drowned  for  being  a 
will-o'-the-wisp. 

Monsieur  Constant  is  busy  among  the  corn-mer- 
chants at  the  farther  end  of  the  market,  but  he  sees 
Therese  on  her  way  towards  him. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  281 

He  too  turns  his  back  on  her,  and  screws  his  round 
flat  face  into  a  listening  expression  as  he  plucks  the 
sleeve  of  the  slowest  speaker  in  Pont-Audemer,  Mon- 
sieur Ricanot,  the  tailor,  and  asks  him  the  news  of  the 
day. 

But  Therese  sees  this  manoeuvre  and  understands 
it.  She  can  be  as  patient  as  a  camel  when  she  has  a 
point  to  gain.  So  she  hovers  round  the  unhappy  little 
man,  like  the  fourolle  people  say  she  is,  till  at  last 
the  corn-merchants  drop  away  one  by  one,  and  he  is 
left  alone. 

Then,  as  if  she  just  perceived  him,  she  darts  on  him 
with  the  sudden  descent  of  a  hawk. 

"  Ah,  good  day,  my  friend,  and  you  are  coming  to 
see  us,  are  you  not,  as  you  promised  ?" 

She  turns  as  if  to  walk  beside  him  to  her  house, 
but  Emile  retreats. 

His  round  face  has  become  a  very  greasy  yellow, 
and  his  eyes  stare  duller  than  ever. 

"  Madame  must  excuse  me,"  he  stammers.  "  I  have 
to  return  home  early,  and  I  must  forego  the  honour  of 
the  visit" 

Therese  laughs  till  the  tongue  shows  in  her  empty 
mouth. 

"What   a   pity,"   she   says,   "when    Franchise   has 


282  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

stayed  in  all  the  morning  to  have  the  chance  of  thank- 
ing you  for  the  charming  flowers.  Well,  then,  you 
must  give  me  a  pretty  message  for  my  daughter  ;"  she 
nods  her  head  triumphantly,  though  she  is  wondering 
how  to  get  this  fat  idiot — as  she  calls  him — home,  and 
settle  the  matter  irrevocably. 

"Her  daughter!"  Constant's  lower  jaw  drops,  and 
he  looks  ready  to  faint  with  terror.  Therese  gazes  at 
him  with  such  astonished  glances  that  he  is  forced  to 
speak.  "  Madame — I  have  been  told  news — Madame 
— why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  your  daughter  was  not 
free,  that  she  was  promised  to  Louis  Perreyve  ?" 

He  clenches  both  fists  in  the  energy  of  his 
demand,  for  at  the  remembrance  of  the  deception  prac- 
tised on  him  he  thinks  only  of  losing  Frangoise,  and 
forgets  his  fear  of  the  fourolle. 

"  Louis  Perreyve  !"  Therese  opens  her  little  eyes. 
"  Ma  foi !  is  there  then  no  end  to  the  gossip  of  Pont- 
Audemer  ?  Now,  Monsieur,"  she  says  with  an  offended 
air,  "  I  will  wager  that  the  teller  of  that  news  was 
a  little  freckled,  green-eyed  chatterbox  called  Louise 
Courbon,  with  a  face  like  a  toad  and  a  tongue  like  a 
magpie.  Tell  me  it  was  she,  and  you  set  my  heart  at 
rest." 

Constant's  dull  wondering  eyes  stare  at  Madame 
Gerard. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  283 

"  It  was  undoubtedly  such  a  person,  Madame  ;  I 
was  about  to  make  other  inquiries,  but  somehow  I  was 
prevented." 

He  had  nearly  said,  "  If  I  could  have  got  out  of 
your  sight  or  hearing  I  should  have  asked  further 
questions,  but  now — "  "  But,  Madame,"  he  goes  on, 
"  I  cannot  see  why  this  person  should  have  come  out 
to  seek  me  and  tell  me  what  is  not  true." 

Therese  smiles  till  her  brick-dust  face  is  full  of 
creases,  and  her  eyes  are  less  restless  as  she  sees  his 
anxiety  for  her  answer. 

"  How  good  you  are  !"  she  gasps  ;  "  how  unsuspect- 
ing !  Why,  Monsieur,  the  last  time  I  saw  Louise 
Courbon  she  told  me  that  a  rich  man  had  taken  the 
mill  at  Montfort,  and  that  she  would  be  his  wife  before 
the  year  was  out,  even  if  she  had  to  ask  him  her- 
self. It  was  that  made  me  guess  none  but  she  could 
have  made  up  such  a  story  about  my  poor  slandered 
child." 

She  rubs  her  hard,  dry  little  eyes  with  the  back  of 
her  hand,  pretending  not  to  see  the  rapid  changes  that 
pass  over  Constant's  round  stupid  face. 

"  Good  day,  Monsieur,"  she  goes  on  ;  "I  will  tell 
Franchise  that  you  care  so  little  for  her  good  name 
that  you  listen  and  give  credit  to  the  first  tale-bearer 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


you  meet  with.  What  right  had  you  to  win  my  beauti- 
ful child's  heart  and  then  deceive  her?" 

Constant  stretches  out  both  hands  imploringly. 
"Her  heart,  did  you  say,  Madame?"  he  puffs  out 
"  Ah,  mon  Dieu  !  if  I  could  hope — listen,  Madame " 
— for  Therese  has  turned  her  back  on  him  and  is 
departing.  "  I  am  not  handsome,  but  I  have  a  heart, 
and  I  am  honest ;  if  this  story  is  false,  then  I  ask  your 
pardon  a  thousand  times,  and  I  entreat  you  not  to 
betray  me  to  your  charming  daughter.  Madame,  I 
have  shown  my  admiration  for  that  young  lady — but," 
he  lays  his  fat  hand  on  his  heart,  "  my  love  is  unspeak- 
able— it  is  here — here!" — he  slaps  his  chest  several 
times — "  and  it  consumes  me."  Therese  has  turned 
round,  and  is  looking  at  him  steadily,  but  he  is  too 
much  excited  to  notice  her  gaze.  "  Madame " — he 
waves  both  hands — "when  I  heard  that  that  fair 
enchanting  creature  had  belonged  to  another  man 
before  I  saw  her,  and  that  while  still  belonging  to  him 
she  had  smiled  on  me  as  she  has  done,  and  led  me  to 
hope  for  success,  I  felt  as  if — as  if  I  should  burst — you 
might  have  put  me  into  the  mill  and  ground  me  into 
flour.  No,  Madame,  I  am  not  handsome,  but  decep- 
tion I  cannot  forgive." 

Again  TheVese's  eyes  grow  restless. 


FROM  NORM  AND  Y  AND  BRITTANY.  285 

"Well,  Monsieur,  I  forgive  you,  and  if  you  will 
promise  not  to  listen  to  any  more  idle  gossip,  I  will 
let  you  see  Franchise,  and  bring  matters  to  a  conclu- 
sion, for  it  seems  to  me  that  is  what  you  want." 

"Madame,  you  are  too  good,"  he  says.  "I  left 
home  with  this  intention,  and  if  I  had  not  met  that 
freckled  mischief-maker  I  should  this  morning  have 
asked  for  the  hand  of  your  daughter." 

Therese  waves  her  hand  impatiently.  "Do  not 
speak  of  that  girl  Louise.  She  shall  never  make 
another  gown  for  me — never.  Since  you  wish  it,  let 
us  go  and  find  Franchise." 

"What  is  the  old  witch  doing  with  the  foolish- 
faced  miller  ?"  says  red-haired  Julie  to  old  Nanon. 

"  She  has  cast  a  spell  on  him,"  says  that  withered 
old  dame  ;  "  and  he  will  fade  like  a  summer  flower." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  MILLER  SPEAKS  HIS  MIND. 

EVENING  draws  on,  and  the  lull  which  has  come  over 
the  little  town  since  the  bustle  of  the  market  departed 
is  broken  now  by  the  sound  of  the  fife  and  drum,  aad 
the  steady  tramp-tramp  of  a  body  of  soldiers  as  they 


286  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

% 
pass  through  the  town  on  their  way  to  Honfleur.      They 

may  only  halt  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  but  two  or  three 
privates  whose  homes  are  in  the  town  have  leave  to  stay 
and  greet  their  friends,  and  join  the  regiment  at  Havre. 

As  they  pass  her  door,  Mother  Therese  looks  out 
in  the  dusk.  She  can  only  see  the  soldiers  moving  at 
a  quick  pace. 

"  Curse  the  red-coated  fools,"  and  she  closes  the 
door,  rejoicing  that  Frangoise  stays  within. 

Soon  after  a  tall  man  staggers  out  of  the  archway 
and  comes  into  the  street  ;  he  goes  a  little  way  down 
it,  and  then,  feeling  giddy,  he  seats  himself  on  a  door- 
step, nearly  opposite  Therese's  house,  and  falls  asleep. 

The  street  seems  to  have  gone  to  rest,  when  all  at 
once  hurried  steps  come  from  the  end  near  the  little 
bridge.  A  tall  young  soldier  walks  at  a  fast  pace,  and 
behind  him  lags  the  watchman  of  Pont-Audemer  with 
his  huge  horn  lantern. 

"Pouf!"  says  this  worthy,  "I  can't  keep  up  with 
your  long  legs,  Louis — we  have  been  to  every  drinking- 
shop  in  the  town — go  home  to  bed,  your  father  will 
turn  up  safe  and  sound  in  the  morning." 

But  the  young  soldier  has  seen  the  sleeping  man 
and  stops  beside  him,  and  as  the  lantern  is  turned  on 
his  face  they  both  recognise  Eustachs. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  287 

"  Ciel !"  exclaims  Louis,  "what  has  happened? 
It  is  my  father,  he  is  not  drunk,  he  is  ill — what  do  I 
know,  dying  ?  help  me,  my  friend." 

They  raise  Eustache  and  drag  him  between  them,  but 
they -do  not  take  him  home;  instead,  Louis  stops  at 
the  door  of  Louise  Courbon's  house,  and  knocks  loudly. 

"  I  have  found  him,"  he  says  to  the  dressmaker ; 
"  But  something  terrible  has  happened — see  how  his 
head  has  been  bleeding." 

They  get  the  doctor,  and  they  watch  beside  him  all 
night ;  but  Eustache  does  not  regain  consciousness. 

At  last,  as  morning  steals  into  the  room,  he  opens 
his  eyes. 

"Louis" — he  does  not  seem  surprised  to  see  his 
son — "you  need  not  take  care  of  Franchise — the  witch 
will  kill  you  if  you  meddle — let  her  marry  the  miller  if 
she  likes." 

He  closes  his  eyes  again,  and  is  deaf  to  all  questions. 

Louise  grows  white. 

"Mon  Dieu  !"  she  whispers,  "had  Eustache  been 
drinking  with  her  yesterday  morning,  and  has  she 
poisoned  him  ?" 

And  then  she  tells  Louis  the  events  of  the  previous 
day. 


288  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

An  hour  later  Louis  Perreyve  knocks  at  Madame 
Gerard's  door. 

He  respects  Louise — he  knows  she  is  true,  but  he 
thinks  she  is  prejudiced  against  Therese,  and  he  cannot 
give  up  his  trust  in  Francoise. 

The  girl  opens  the  door  herself — Louis  enters 
quickly  and  clasps  her  in  his  arms. 

She  struggles  away  from  him. 

"  No,  Monsieur  ;  no,  Louis — you  must  not — mother  ! 
oh,  mother,  come  here  !" 

The  young  soldier  lets  her  go  and  then  stands 
stupefied  while  Thdrese  waddles  out  of  the  back  room, 
where  she  is  making  coffee. 

"  Monsieur  Perreyve,  this  is  an  unexpected  honour," 
she  gasps  contemptuously. 

"  What  do  you  mean, Madame?" — his  senses  are  com- 
ing back  to  Louis,  and  with  them  comes  violent  anger. 

"  I  mean  that  when  a  man  is  dolt  enough  to  listen 
to  his  father  and  to  go  for  a  soldier,  when  he  might 
marry  the  girl  he  loves,  he  deserves  to  lose  her.  Your 
father  was  rich  enough  to  buy  you  a  substitute,  Louis 
Perreyve.  If  you  wouldn't  stay  to  take  care  of  Franchise 
you  have  no  right  to  her.  She  is  now  another  man's 
property." 

"  Hold   your   tongue,  shameless   woman,"  he   says 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  289 

fiercely  ;  "  if  my  father  were  still  rich,  you  would  not 
dare  to  play  me  false."  He  checks  himself,  and  turns 
to  Francoise.  "  My  beloved,"  he  says  tenderly,  "  I  do 
not  wrong  you  by  a  doubt :  you  are  true — you  love  me 
— and  you  will  not  listen  to  your  mother's  words  ?" 

"  My  mother  says  the  truth — I  am  not  true  to  you." 
Franchise  blushes  and  hangs  her  head.  "  There  has 
been  deceit  enough,  but  I  meant  to  write  and  tell  you 
to-day." 

"You  are  not  true — heavens!" — he  snatches  her 
hands  and  compels  her  to  raise  her  eyes.  "  Mon  Dieu  ! 
can  you  be  false — you  whom  I  have  so  trusted  ? 
Francoise — look  at  me — look  into  my  heart  and  say 
you  do  not  love  me." 

The  girl  blushes  redder  still,  her  lips  quiver,  and 
she  shrinks  from  him  in  a  burst  of  tears. 

"  Oh,  mother — mother — you  promised  to  spare  me 
this  " — she  clasps  her  hands  over  her  eyes.  "  I  said  I 
could  go  through  with  it  all — if  I  did  not  see  Louis — 
I  cannot  bear  it." 

Louis  tries  to  put  his  arm  round  her,  but  she  pushes 
him  away. 

Mother  Therdse  has  stood  looking  at  them  with  her 
restless  eyes.  She  stamps  her  foot,  and  draws  Francoise 

to  her. 

U 


290  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  You  fool  " — she  shakes  the  girl's  arm — "  you  poor 
whining  fool  !"  she  gasps.  "You  will  then  marry  this 
poor  soldier,  and  give  up  all  your  fine  prospects?" 

Francoise  shakes  herself  free — she  raises  her  head 
and  looks  calmly  at  Louis. 

"  You  think  yourself  very  clever,  mother,"  she  says, 
"  and  you  like  to  call  names,  but  you  are  wrong,  though 
I  shall  marry  to  please  myself,  not  you."  She  looks  at 
Therese,  and  laughs  at  the  alarm  in  her  face. 

"  Louis,"  she  says,  "  do  not  try  to  win  me  back.  I 
esteem  you  too  much  to  listen  to  you  :  you  cannot 
make  me  happy."  Then,  as  he  turns  away  in  anger — 
"  Listen,  my  friend,  only  a  rich  man  can  make  me 
happy.  If  I  marry  you  I  shall  only  love  you  a  little 
while — as  soon  as  hardships  begin  I  shall  hate  you  and 
leave  you." 

"  Francoise" — he  stretches  out  his  hands  imploringly 
— "  it  is  not  your  own  self  who  speaks.  Think  how 
happy  we  have  been — think  how  I  love  you  ;  ah,  you 
do  not  know  how  happy  I  can  make  you  my  beloved — 
come  back  to  me,  my  Franchise." 

But  the  girl  still  shrinks  back,  and  Therese  stands 
between  the  lovers. 

"  This  must  be  ended,  Monsieur,"  she  says  ;  "  you 
must  be  thought  of  as  well  as  Francoise.  My  daughter 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  291 

dares  not  listen.  She  promised  herself  yesterday  to 
Monsieur  Emile  Constant,  the  miller  of  Montfort." 

"  Is  this  true  ?"  Louis  speaks  vehemently,  then, 
pushing  past  the  old  woman,  he  drags  Fra^oise  to  the 
stairs'  foot,  where  there  is  more  daylight  than  in  the 
narrow  entrance  passage.  "  Who  is  this  man  ?"  he  looks 
at  her  sternly  ;  "  I  never  heard  of  him.  Speak — do 
you  love  him  ?" 

"  Let  me  go  " — Fran^oise  is  wild  with  grief  and 
anger — "  he  is  not  a  stranger — yes,  my  mother  has  told 
you  the  truth." 

As  she  speaks  there  is  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door. 
Therese  turns  a  gray  paleness,  she  is  so  frightened  that 
she  stands  helpless,  leaning  against  the  passage  wall. 
Louis  lets  go  of  Franchise  and  opens  the  door. 

Side  by  side,  looking  as  strange  a  pair  as  could  be 
seen,  are  Louise  and  Monsieur  Constant. 

The  miller's  large  dull  eyes  are  full  of  angry  excite- 
ment ;  but  Louise  is  radiant.  She  glances  over  the 
group  in  the  passage,  and  then  she  turns  to  her  com- 
panion. 

"Well,  Monsieur,  do  you  believe  me  now  ?"  Then 
speaking  to  the  astonished  group,  "  Why  do  you  all  stand 
here  ?"  says  the  brisk  little  woman  ;  and  she  goes  into 
the  parlour,  the  others  following  like  a  flock  of  sheep. 


292  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  Now,  Monsieur  Constant,  you  have  to  excuse 
yourself  to  my  friend  Louis,  and  let  the  blame  fall  where 
it  is  really  due." 

The  miller,  thus  exhorted,  holds  up  his  flat  round 
head  and  prepares  to  puff  out  his  words  with  extra 
vigour  ;  but  Louis  stands  stupefied  by  surprise  that 
stifles  anger.  He  turns  slowly  from  the  heavy  unmean- 
ing face  and  unwieldy  figure  to  Francoise,  but  she  will 
not  meet  his  eyes.  Till  now  she  has  braved  it  out — 
she  has  conquered  the  longing  she  had  for  Louis's  love 
— from  very  fear  of  her  own  weakness  she  has  kept 
firm,  but  she  cannot  bear  his  contempt,  she  cannot  bear 
him  to  see  the  man  she  has  put  in  his  place — she  turns 
away  as  the  miller  speaks,  and  hides  her  face  against 
the  wall. 

"  Mademoiselle  Courbon,  when  I  called  on  her  this 
morning,"  he  says  pompously,  "  when  I  questioned  her 
this  morning  on  some  information  she  gave  me  yester- 
day— said  I  should  find  Monsieur  Perreyve  here,  and 
that  I  owed  him  an  explanation."  He  does  not  look 
at  Louis  ;  he  directs  his  discourse  to  the  Venice 
goblets,  which  come  precisely  into  level  with  his  staring 
eyes.  "  But  I  do  not  feel  that  I  owe  explanation  or 
anything  to  anybody.  Morbleu  !  shall  I  give  explana- 
tions when  I  have  been  deceived,  made  a  fool  of — what 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  293 

do  I  say,  outraged  ?"  he  screams  out  with  sudden 
wrath,  and  shakes  both  fists  in  the  face  of  Madame 
Gerard. 

She  rouses  with  an  effort,  for  the  sight  of  Louise 
has  paralysed  her  with  terror.  Therese's  first  thought 
was  that  Eustache  had  denounced  her — but  the  dress- 
maker's silence  gives  her  hope  that  as  yet  nothing  has 
been  discovered. 

"  Monsieur  Constant,"  she  says,  "  a  promise  cannot 
be  broken — you  are  the  promised  husband  of  my  child  : 
pay  no  heed  to  these  fables — look  at  Fran^oise  and 
do  not  listen  to  these  intruders." 

"  No,  I  will  not  look  at  her,  traitress,"  he  screams 
in  fury.  "  Ah,  hag,  harpy,  murderess,  for  have  you 
not  nearly  murdered  the  father  of  this  gentleman  ? 
Marry  your  daughter !  do  you  think  I  could  be  sure  of 
my  life,  you  witch  ?  Take  yourself  away,  infamous 
that  you  are — take  yourselves  both  away  from  Pont- 
Audemer,  or  I  will  have  you  prosecuted  and  punished. 
Monsieur  " — he  turns  suddenly  to  the  young  soldier — 
"  shake  hands,  Monsieur,  we  are  well  rid  of  such  a  wife 
— come — come  away  as  you  would  from  the  pit  of 
hell — and  you  Mademoiselle  " — to  Louise — "  open  the 
door,  if  you  please." 


294  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

Eustache  recovered  after  a  while  from  the  effects 
of  the  narcotic  he  had  swallowed,  and  from  the  injuries 
he  had  received  in  his  fall. 

His  son  went  back  to  the  army  of  the  North,  reck- 
less what  became  of  him  ;  and  the  Gerards  disappeared 
in  the  night  from  Pont-Audemer.  Gossips  say  that  the 
Evil  One  fetched  away  his  own  ;  and  gossips  also  say 
that  soon  afterwards  the  miller  of  Montfort  proposed  to 
the  little  dressmaker,  but  that  she  prefers  to  remain 
Mademoiselle  Louise  Courbon, 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  295 


CHAPTER   XII. 

CAUDEBEC  — ROUEN  — ST.    ROMAIN    AND    THE    DRAGON— "A   WAIF 
OF   THE   WOODS "  — CHATEAU   GAILLARD. 

FROM  Pont-Audemer  one  must  cross  the  Seine  to  reach 
Caudebec. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  charming  sights  the  Seine 
offers  to  the  traveller  who  comes  down  the  river 
in  the  little  steamer  from  Rouen  to  Havre  is  the 
pretty  town  of  Caudebec,  backed  by  richly  wooded 
hills,  with  its  broad  terrace  beside  the  river,  along 
which  a  double  avenue  of  trees  runs  close  to  the  water's 
edge  ;  while  behind,  above  the  quaint  half-timbered 
houses,  rise  the  rich  spires  of  the  fine  church — or 
cathedral,  as  travellers  so  often  call  it.  We  reached 
Caudebec  on  market-day,  and  the  broad  quay  was  alive 
with  country  folk,  who  not  only  set  up  their  stalls  here 
but  spread  the  ground  with  their  merchandise,  while 
their  lofty  green-hooded  waggons  stood  ranged  under 
the  tall  trees  of  the  avenue.  But  the  market  was  at 
its  best  in  the  Grande  Place  in  front  of  the  church,  and 


290 


PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 


this  is  altogether  the  most  picturesque  sight  to  be  seen 
in  either  Normandy  or  Brittany,  not  even  excepting 


MARKET-PLACE,    CAUDEBEC. 


the  market  of  Ouimper ;  for  although  the  Breton 
costumes  are  far  more  rich  in  colour  ana  quaint  in  form 
than  the  ordinary  Norman  peasant  clothing,  the  Cau- 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  297 

dcbec  women  get  the  pull  in  the  taste  with  which  they 
display  their  wares,  and  in  the  far  greater  charm  of  the 
Place  itself. 

Henri  Quatre  said  the  grand  old  church  at  one  end 
of  this  Place  was  the  finest  chapel  he  had  ever  seen  ; 
its  southern  side  completely  fills  the  end  of  the  square, 
the  other  three  sides  of  which  are  filled  by  quaint  old 
fifteenth-century  houses,  as  yet  but  little  modernised. 
Hitherto  Caudebec  has  been  a  sleepy  town,  full  of  old- 
world  quiet,  only  broken  by  the  noise  of  the  bark  mills 
which  at  times  make  the  whole  place  unsavoury  ;  the 
railway  is  some  miles  off,  and  the  demon  Improvement 
has  not  yet  cast  his  eyes  on  this  rarely  picturesque 
town  beside  the  silver  Seine,  with  its  gray  fringe  of 
willows  and  its  winding  curves  ;  but  he  js  not  far  off 
— it  is  only  a  question  of  months,  or  perhaps  a  year 
or  two.  The  traveller  who  would  see  this  perfect  speci- 
men of  an  old  Norman  town,  still  wearing  the  picturesque 
charm  that  old  age  gives,  and  with  all  the  freshness  of 
old-world  ways  still  clinging  to  its  people,  should  visit 
it  without  delay.  There  is  plenty  of  sketching  to  be 
done  in  the  town,  and  the  walks  are  lovely. 

Sauntering  on  beyond  the  avenue,  along  the  dusty 
white  road,  now  shaded  by  a  lofty  tree-covered  hill, 
where  old  Norman  farm-houses  nestle,  now  screened 


298  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

from  the  river  by  wan  phantom-like  birches,  we  came 
one  afternoon  to  the  exquisite  little  pilot  village,  Ville- 
quier,  with  its  tiny-spired  church  perched  half-way  up 
the  wooded  height,  as  if  it  would  keep  its  distance  alike 
from  the  castle  above  and  the  cottages  at  its  feet. 
This  village,  where  the  river  Curves  in  an.  exquisite  bay, 
is  a  station  for  the  pilots  who  guide  boats  and  barges 
through  the  perils  of  the  Seine  and  its  dreaded  Barre. 

The  large  illustration  shows  the  principal  street 
of  Caudebec,  lined  with  old  houses.  At  the  end  rises 
the  richly  carved  church  spire,  which,  like  the  rest  of 
the  building,  is  a  miracle  of  stonework.  We  spent 
some  time  in  this  delightful  little  town,  and  were  very 
unwilling  to  leave  its  peaceful  beauty  for  the  more 
noisy  and  crowded  city  of  Rouen. 

Eouem 

THE  city  of  Rouen  has  been  so  well  and  so  exhaust- 
ively described  by  so  many  writers  that  it  does  not 
seem  necessary  to  give  any  detailed  account  of  it  in 
this  book.  Only  a  few  years  ago  it  was  the  most 
picturesque  city  of  Normandy,  perhaps,  indeed,  of 
Europe  ;  now,  alas,  much  of  its  quaint  originality  has 
disappeared,  and  the  old  houses  that  remain  are  being 


GRANDE   RUE,  CAUDEBEC. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  299 


replaced  by  modern  inanities,  the  old  streets  will   soon 


AN   OLD   COURT   IN   ROUEN. 


have  passed  away,  and  only  the  churches  and  a  few 
public   buildings   will    remain    of   old    Rouen.       Even 


300  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

public  buildings  have  been  deprived  in  a  large  measure, 
owing  to  these  changes,  of  their  picturesque  connecting 
links  with  the  past 

The  Place  de  la  Vieille  Tour  is  perhaps  the  least 
modernised  of  the  old  Places  of  Rouen  ;  it  still 
possesses  many  picturesque  points.  The  building 
called  Monument  Saint  Remain  stands  in  this  Place, 
opposite  the  Halle  aux  toiles  or  Cloth  Market ;  it  is  a  pic- 
turesque specimen  of  the  Renaissance  style.  This  build- 
ing is  associated  with  a  strange  ancient  custom,  called  La 
Levee  de  la  Fierte  de  St.  Romain  ;  for  on  the  top  of 
the  double  flight  of  steps  the  Chapter  of  the  cathedral, 
every  year  on  Ascension  Day,  was  entitled  to  pronounce 
by  one  of  their  number  the  pardon  of  a  criminal  under 
sentence  of  death.  How  this  privilege  came  to  be 
accorded  to  the  chapter  of  Rouen  Cathedral  the  fol- 
lowing legend  will  show  : — 

»>amt  Eomam  auto  rtje  SDcaiptt, 

SAINT  ROMAIN  had  passed  his  youth  at  the  court  of 
Clotaire  the  Second,  and  was  loved  and  reverenced  by 
rich  and  poor  alike  for  his  piety  and  modesty.  He  was 
consecrated  bishop  of  Rouen  about  630,  and  he  at  once 
vigorously  set  to  work  to  put  down  idolatry.  His  pious 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  301 

efforts  were  crowned  with  great  success  and  he  had 
power  given  him  to  work  miracles.  The  most  famous 
among  these  exploits  was  his  encounter  with  a  dragon 
called  Gargouille.  An  enormous  monster  of  this  species 
suddenly  appeared  in  a  marshy  meadow  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Rouen,  and  very  soon  the  creature  filled  the  hearts 
of  the  townspeople  with  sorrow  and  dismay ;  he  devoured 
indiscriminately  all  the  men,  women,  children,and  animals 
who  came  in  his  way.  No  one  dared  venture  near  the 
marsh,  and  all  business  which  lay  beyond  the  town  on 
that  side  was  suspended.  This  wholesale  destruction 
of  his  flock  greatly  troubled  St.  Romain,  and  he  turned 
over  in  his  mind  many  ways  of  putting  an  end  to 
Monsieur  Gargouille's  inordinate  appetite.  At  last  he 
determined  to  make  a  direct  attack  upon  the  monster. 
He  announced  his  intention  in  the  cathedral,  and  ex- 
pressed a  desire  that  some  one  should  accompany  him 
on  the  expedition.  But  no  one  seemed  inclined  to 
accept  the  privilege.  At  last  the  bishop's  difficulty 
came  to  the  ears  of  a  criminal  under  sentence  of  death, 
and  he  at  once  offered  his  services.  The  bishop 
accepted  them  gladly,  and  the  two  set  forth  for  the 
marsh.  St.  Romain  only  took  his  pastoral  staff;  but 
his  companion  preferred  to  carry  a  serviceable  sword 
and  shield. 


302  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

When  the  monster  saw  the  saint  and  the  sinner 
approaching  he  rushed  towards  them,  flapping  his  huge 
wings,  and,  making  a  fearful  outcry,  he  spat  forth  fire 
from  his  mouth  and  nostrils.  The  criminal  felt  his  last 
hour  was  come,  but  put  himself  in  an  attitude  of  de- 
fence. Nothing  daunted  by  the  fearful  sight,  the  good 
bishop  instinctively  raised  his  hand  and  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  uttering  a  sentence  in  very  good  ecclesias- 
tical Latin.  To  the  bishop's  surprise — for  it  must  be 
owned  he  was  feeling  more  confidence  in  the  effect  of 
a  good  blow  from  his  staff  than  from  any  Latin — the 
dragon  instantly  dropped  his  blustering  attitude,  and 
cowered  before  his  adversaries.  The  bishop  without 
more  ado  whipped  off  his  stole,  passed  it  round  the 
monster's  neck,  and  delivering  him  to  the  criminal,  bade 
him  lead  the  dragon  into  the  city. 

Great  was  the  wonder  of  the  inhabitants  when  they 
saw  the  trio  approach — the  bishop  walking  beside  the 
dragon  as  calmly  as  if  he  were  pacing  the  cathedral, 
and  Monsieur  Gargouille  shambling  along  with  lowered 
crest  and  drooping  wings,  held  in  leash  by  the  criminal  ; 
and  so,  followed  by  the  rejoicing  townsfolk,  they  passed 
on  to  the  cathedral  square,  where  Monsieur  Gargouille, 
by  the  order  of  the  bishop,  was  tied  to  a  stake  and 
burned. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY. 


303 


It  need  hardly  be  said  that  the  condemned  criminal 
received  a  free  pardon  for  his  share  in  the  exploit. 


MONUMENT  TO  ST.  ROMAIN,  ROUEN. 


In   order   that   the    memory  of  this  great  miracle 
might    be  preserved,  the    king  Dagobert  gave  to  the 


304  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

cathedral  of  Rouen  the  power  to  pardon  every  year, 
at  Ascension  tide,  a  criminal  under  sentence  of  death. 
The  pardon  was  pronounced  from  the  top  of  the  double 
staircase,  and  then  the  criminal  walked  in  a  procession 
of  priests  and  acolytes  to  the  cathedral,  carrying  la 
Fierte  de  St.  Remain.  La  Fierte  was  the  casket  con- 
taining the  relics  of  St.  Romain,  and  during  the  cere- 
mony of  his  pardon  the  criminal  was  obliged  to  support 
this  on  his  shoulders.  This  curious  custom  was  only 
done  away  with  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution. 

Many  quaint  by-streets  and  lanes  still  exist  in 
Rouen  ;  the  illustration  represents  one  of  these. 

All  sorts  of  legends  are  told  of  Rouen  and  the 
neighbouring  country  ;  a  very  popular  one  is  related  of 
Richard  the  Fearless,  third  Duke  of  Normandy,  whose 
father  and  grandfather,  William  Longsword  and  Rollo, 
are  both  buried  in  Rouen  cathedral. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  305 


Si  faliaif  of  tije 

A    LEGEND    OF    DUKE    RICHARD    THE    FEARLESS. 

"  A  Richard  le  Normant  aduint  maintes  merveilles 
Vers  celles  que  vueil  dire  elles  sont  nompareilles 
Quon  puis  dire  de  bouche  ne  escouter  doreilles." 

Roman  de  Richart. 

PART  I. 

ONE  evening,  just  after  sundown,  Richard,  Duke  of 
Normandy,  called  Sans  Peur,  was  riding  slowly  through 
the  wood  near  his  chateau  de  Molineaux.  As  he  passed 
under  the  branches  of  a  lofty  tree  he  heard  the  wailing 
cries  of  an  infant.  He  stopped  his  horse  and  listened 
—  the  cries  redoubled,  and,  to  his  astonishment,  they 
seemed  to  come  from  above  his  head. 

The  Duke  quickly  dismounted,  and,  fastening  his 
horse  to  a  tree,  began  to  unbuckle  his  spurs. 

"  Surely  the  child  is  in  the  tree,"  he  thought  ;  "  I 
will  climb  and  find  out." 

Another  burst  of  cries  and  sobs,  and  he  began  to 
climb  the  tree  as  fast  as  he  could  ;  guided  by  the  voice, 
he  soon  discovered  the  little  creature  niched  in  a  hollow 
formed  by  two  branches.  Then  he  looked  at  his  dis- 
covery. It  was  a  beautiful  child,  and  its  clothes  were 


^06  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

of  a  good  fashion  and  texture.  As  soon  as  the  Duke 
touched  it  it  left  off  crying.  He  clasped  it  to  his 
breast,  and  climbed  down  the  tree  carefully. 

"Whose  child  can  this  be?"  he  said.  "By  my 
faith,  I  must  be  its  godfather,  poor  little  soul." 

The  Duke  tenderly  wrapped  it  in  his  cloak  and 
remounted  his  horse,  then  he  rode  quickly  towards  the 
cottage  of  his  forester  and  knocked  at  his  door. 

"  See  what  I  have  brought  you,  Margot,"  he  said  to 
the  forester's  wife.  "  Your  trees  bear  strange  fruit." 

He  held  the  child  to  the  woman,  but  it  began  to 
cry  out  loudly,  and  showed  by  its  looks  and  movements 
that  it  wished  to  remain  with  the  Duke. 

"  Holy  Saints!"  said  Margot,  "does  my  lord  mean 
that  he  found  this  beautiful  creature  in  the  forest  ?" 

"  Yes,  by  my  faith,  I  plucked  it  from  a  tree  ;  how 
it  got  there  the  saints  only  know.  As  I  rode  along  I 
heard  loud  cries  in  the  air  ;  I  climbed  a  tree,  and  this 
little  apple  was  growing  on  a  branch." 

While  the  Duke  spoke,  Margot  had  got  the  little 
creature  in  her  lap,  and  began  to  take  off  its  clothes. 

"  Tell  me,  my  good  Margot,"  said  the  Duke,  "  is  it 
a  boy  or  a  girl." 

"  By  the  blessed  Virgin,  my  lord,  it  is  the  most 
beautiful  girl  that  was  ever  made." 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  307 

"  That  pleases  me  well,"  said  Richard.  "  I  put  her 
in  your  charge,  Margot  ;  you  must  be  a  mother  to  her." 

"Yes,  yes,  Monseigneur,  your  will  shall  be  obeyed." 

The  Duke  put  some  gold  pieces  on  the  table  and 
gave  a  parting  kiss  to  the  child,  who  laughed  and 
crowed  with  delight ;  then  he  mounted  his  horse  and 
rode  away. 

It  was  now  nearly  dusk,  and  as  the  Duke  turned 
into  one  of  the  wide  alleys  of  the  forest  he  came  upon 
a  large  pack  of  hounds  ;  behind  them  ran  the  hunts- 
men, blowing  horns,  and  after  these  came  a  great 
number  of  men  on  horseback. 

The  Duke's  horse  stood  still  and  trembled  in  every 
limb. 

But  Richard  cried  out,  "  By  the  true  God,  I  will 
know  who  are  these  who  dare  to  hunt  without  my 
leave." 

Suddenly  the  Mesgnie  Hellequin1  came  into  his 
mind,  and  just  then  he  espied  among  the  troop  one  of 
his  own  squires  who  had  died  a  year  ago.  The  Duke 
urged  his  trembling,  stumbling  horse  towards  the  figure. 
"  From  whence  do  you  come  ?"  he  asked  ;  "what  brings 
you  here  ?  were  you  not  the  seneschal  of  my  court  ? 
and  have  you  not  been  dead  a  year  ? " 

The  phantom  hunter  and  his  troop.     A  superstition  of  Normandy. 


3o8  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  Yes,  sire,"  said  the  figure,  in  a  hollow  voice,  "  I 
was  seneschal  of  your  court,  and  I  died  a  year  ago." 

"  Tell  me  then,"  said  Richard,  "  how  have  you  come 
to  life  again  ?" 

"  Alas,  sire,  I  am  not  alive,  I  am  a  spirit,  and  I  am 
doing  penance  for  my  sins,  and  so  are  all  the  rest  you 
see  here.  We  are  all  the  servants  of  Hellequin." 

"  How  dares  he  hunt  in  this  forest  without  my 
leave,"  said  the  Duke  angrily.  "  By  the  faith  which  I 
owe  to  God,  I  will  not  suffer  it.  Where  is  this  Helle- 
quin ?  I  will  learn  from  his  own  mouth  who  he  is." 

"  Sire,  you  are  my  master,  I  will  conduct  you  to 
him." 

Then  the  squire  led  the  Duke  to  a  large  thorn  tree 
where  a  tall  dark-looking  man  was  seated.  Richard 
the  Fearless,  as  soon  as  he  saw  him,  asked  him  by 
whose  leave  he  hunted  in  the  forest. 

"  By  the  leave  of  God,"  said  the  dark  figure.  He 
has  commanded  us  to  hunt  in  these  woods  all  through 
the  night.  I  am  Hellequin." 

Thus  saying,  Hellequin  descended  from  the  thorn 
tree,  and  seated  himself  upon  a  piece  of  silk  which  the 
seneschal  had  spread  for  him  on  the  ground. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  strange  man,  if  I  shall  live 
long?"  said  Richard. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  309 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  I  foresee  that  you  will 
encounter  many  dangers  ;  however,  neither  friends  nor 
enemies  will  have  any  power  over  you.  Ask  me  nothing 
more.  Farewell !" 

Richard  heard  this  prediction  with  great  joy. 

As  he  was  going,  Hellequin  said,  "  Take  this  as  a 
memento  of  our  meeting,"  and  he  gave  the  Duke  the 
rich  piece  of  silk  on  which  he  had  been  sitting.  The 
Duke  bowed  and  returned  to  his  horse.  He  threw  the 
silk,  which  was  of  extraordinary  richness  and  beauty, 
over  the  saddle,  and  laughed.  "  It  will  one  day  make 
a  good  robe  for  my  foundling,"  he  said. 

PART  II. 

THE  child  throve  fast  and  well  under  the  care  of  the 
forester's  wife.  Indeed,  her  growth  was  almost  magical, 
and  each  year  that  passed  over  her  head  seemed  to 
increase  her  grace  and  beauty.  Duke  Richard,  who 
was  a  bachelor,  took  the  greatest  interest  in  his 
protegee,  and  he  paid  constant  visits  to  the  cottage  in 
the  forest.  He  had  kept  this  adventure  a  profound 
secret,  and  he  had  imposed  silence  on  the  child's  foster- 
mother  ;  so  the  strange  waif  grew  up  like  a  sweet 
violet,  lost  to  view  in  the  shade  of  a  wood. 


310  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

One  day  after  leaving  the  cottage,  Duke  Richard 
began  to  ask  himself  what  would  be  the  end  of  this 
affair,  for  he  found  that  the  beautiful  girl  was  con- 
stantly in  his  thoughts,  and  that  each  time  he  saw  her 
it  was  more  difficult  to  leave  her  ;  in  fact,  the  bold 
Duke  was  head  over  ears  in  love  with  his  forest  flower, 
not  after  the  too  frequent  fashion  of  his  order,  but 
honestly  in  love.  The  maid  was  as  modest  as  she  was 
beautiful,  but  she  could  not  help  showing,  by  her  delight 
whenever  he  appeared  at  the  cottage,  how  tenderly 
disposed  she  was  towards  him. 

"  By  my  faith,"  said  Richard,  "  it  seems  but  the 
other  day  I  carried  her  in  my  arms  down  the  wood,  and 
now  she  is  a  well-grown  young  woman.  Margot  has 
done  her  duty  by  her.  Yes,  yes  ;  she  is  a  beautiful 
creature,  and  without  doubt  would  make  a  most  loving 
and  virtuous  wife." 

About  this  time  the  barons  of  Normandy,  both 
great  and  small,  held  a  consistory,  and,  as  though  they 
had  divined  their  master's  wishes,  they  resolved  to  ask 
him  to  choose  a  wife  who  might  give  him  an  heir  to  suc- 
ceed in  the  government  of  the  country  ;  certain  of  their 
number  therefore  besought  an  interview  with  the  Duke, 
and  made  known  to  him  their  desire  with  all  due 
respect  and  formality. 


FROM  NORM  A  ND  Y  A  ND  BRITTA  NY,  3 1 1 

Duke  Richard  smiled  when  he  heard  the  request  of 
his  barons. 

"  By  my  faith,"  he  said,  "  your  desires  jump  with 
my  own.  I  have  been  thinking  of  this  very  thing,  and 
I  am  ready  to  do  what  you  wish." 

A  chorus  of  pleasure  was  growled  out  by  the 
barons,  as  they  stroked  their  beards  or  twisted  their 
moustaches,  each  man  according  to  his  habit. 

"  Sire,"  said  the  oldest  and  highest  in  rank,  "  there 
are  several  noble  dames  from  whom  we  have  thought 
your  Grace  might  be  pleased  to  choose." 

"  In  the  matter  of  choice,"  said  the  Duke,  "  I  shall 
consult  no  one.  I  have  in  my  mind  a  young  maiden 
whose  bringing  up  I  have  watched  ever  since  she  was 
a  child.  I  could  never  find  a  maid  more  beautiful  or 
more  to  my  liking.  She  is  young — but " — added  the 
Duke  with  a  smile,  "  she  will  grow  older  ;  I  will  make 
her  my  wife." 

"  Sire,"  said  the  barons,  "  may  God  give  her  on 
whom  your  heart  is  set  the  joy  and  honour  of  being 
your  wife." 

So  the  affair  was  settled,  though,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose, a  good  deal  of  curiosity  was  excited  by  its  singu- 
larity, and  no  question  was  asked  so  often  as  "  Who  is 
she?"  especially  among  the  ladies  of  the  court,  many 


312  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

of  whom  had  hoped  to  be  Duchess  of  Normandy.  But 
it  was  all  in  vain,  no  one  could  get  at  the  root  of  the 
mystery  ;  the  only  person  who  could  satisfy  them  was 
dumb  ;  and,  indeed,  he  knew  no  more  of  his  protegee's 
parentage  than  they  did.  When  the  maiden  appeared 
at  court  her  wondrous  grace  and  beauty,  and  her  per- 
fect modesty  of  demeanour,  silenced  all  cavillers,  and 
made  clear  to  all  that  the  Duke  had  sufficient  excuse 
for  his  mysterious  choice. 

In  due  course  the  Archbishop  of  Rouen  blessed 
the  nuptials,  which  were  celebrated  with  great  magni- 
ficence in  the  Cathedral  of  Rouen  ;  and  the  bride,  in  a 
robe  made  of  the  rare  silk  that  Hellcquin  had  given 
to  the  Duke,  looked  the  most  ravishing  creature  the 
world  at  that  date  had  seen. 


PART  III. 

FOR  several  years  Duke  Richard  and  his  forest-bride 
lived  happily  together,  the  only  drawback  to  their  perfect 
bliss  being  that  the  desire  of  the  duke  and  his  barons 
for  an  heir  was  still  unfulfilled.  Duke  Richard  loved  his 
wife  so  passionately  he  could  hardly  bear  her  to  be  out 
of  his  sight.  He  was  always  discovering  in  her  fresh 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  313 

charms  of  mind  and  body — custom  could  not  stale  her 
infinite  variety — her  faults  were  almost  virtues  in  his 
eyes  ;  even  a  strange  mischievous  grace  and  wilfulness 
that  possessed  her  at  times  fascinated  the  bold  duke. 

But  a  sudden  end  came  to  all  this  happiness.  One 
day  the  Duke  found  his  wife  lying  on  her  bed- — pale 
and  spiritless  ;  a  withering  blight  had  fallen  upon  her  ; 
he  strove  vainly  to  rouse  her  from  this  lethargy  that 
dulled  her  faculties.  At  last  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  ails  you,  sweet  wife,"  said  the  Duke,  much 
dismayed  by  her  strange  unusual  mood. 

"  Sire,"  she  said  in  a  broken  voice,  "  I  am  very  ill ; 
I  believe  I  am  going  to  die." 

"  The  holy  saints  forbid,"  cried  the  Duke. 

A  violent  shudder  passed  over  his  wife  at  the  words. 
"Alas,  sire,"  she  sobbed,  "it  is  true;  I  know  I  am 
going  to  leave  you  ;  my  strength  and  life  seem  passing 
away." 

"  My  God  !  it  must  not,  cannot  be,"  said  the  Duke, 
starting  up.  "  A  surgeon  must  see  you  at  once." 

"  Richard,  do  not  leave  me,"  she  said  imploringly, 
laying  her  hand  on  his.  "  I  am  past  all  medicine,  I 
feel  death  at  my  heart — while  I  can  still  speak  listen 
to  me — and  I  beseech  you,  by  your  love  for  me,  grant 
me  what  I  am  going  to  ask." 


3H  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  Speak,  my  soul's  life  ;  I  will  do  anything  you 
wish." 

"  Sire,  when  I  am  dead  " — her  voice  grew  weaker 
and  weaker — "  let  me  be  buried  in  the  chapel  in  the 
middle  of  the  forest  where  I  was  brought  up  ;  and 
promise  me,  my  dear  lord,  that  you  will  watch  during  a 
whole  night  beside  my  coffin." 

The  Duke  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  He  could  not 
speak,  but  the  heaving  of  his  shoulders  told  his  anguish. 

"  Promise,"  said  his  wife,  faintly.  The  Duke  raised 
his  head  ;  he  was  very  pale,  and  every  feature  was 
wrung  with  mental  pain. 

"  If  I  have  the  misery,  sweet  wife,  to  see  you  dead, 
it  shall  be  as  you  wish." 

The  Duchess  was  indeed  past  all  help  from  the 
surgeons  ;  in  a  few  hours  from  her  seizure  she  lay  pale 
and  still  as  marble.  The  Duke  was  inconsolable  ;  but, 
faithful  to  his  promise,  he  ordered  that  the  body  of  his 
wife  should  be  taken  in  the  evening  to  the  chapel  in 
the  forest.  There,  dressed  in  splendid  robes  of  state, 
the  body  of  the  young  Duchess  was  laid  on  a  magni- 
ficent bier,  surrounded  by  blazing  torches.  The  arch- 
bishop and  his  priests  chaunted  a  solemn  service  for  the 
dead,  and  recommended  the  soul  of  the  Duchess  to  God. 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  315 

The  office  finished,  the  clergy  returned  to  Rouen  ;  but 
the  Duke  remained  to  fulfil  his  promise  to  his  dying 
wife — to  watch  during  the  night  beside  her  body.  One 
knight  only  of  his  attendants,  a  loved  and  trusted  friend, 
stayed  to  keep  vigil  with  him. 

Richard  was  very  heavy  hearted  ;  the  joy  of  his 
life  seemed  to  have  gone  from  him.  The  whole  thing 
had  been  so  awfully  sudden — it  appeared  like  a  hideous 
dream.  He  could  not  realise  that  his  gay  sweet  wife 
was  dead,  that  it  was  only  her  lifeless  form  he  looked 
upon  ;  and  as  he  gazed  he  fancied  he  saw  a  smile  curving 
her  beautiful  lips,  and  he  almost  expected  her  to  speak. 

"  Oh,  my  love,  my  wife,"  he  cried,  "  speak  to  me  ; 
say  you  are  not  dead — say  you  will  come  back  to  me 
in  the  morning  light." 

There  was  no  answering  voice  ;  only  the  echoes  of 
the  place  returned  his  bitter  cry  ;  but  he  seemed  to  hear 
strange  whisperings  in  the  air,  and  to  feel  the  fluttering 
of  wings  around  him. 

The  Duke  raised  his  head  and  looked  round  the 
chapel. 

"  Heard  you  aught  ?"  he  said  to  the  knight  beside 
him,  who  was  white  with  fear. 

"  Yes,  sire,  strange  mutterings,  and  sounds  like  wings 
beating  the  air." 


3i 6  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

"  Some  foul  bird  has  got  into  the  chapel,"  said  the 
Duke  ;  and  his  head  again  sank  on  his  breast. 

Towards  midnight  Richard  and  his  companion  were 
seized  with  heavy  sleep.  Then  a  strange  thing  happened. 
The  body  of  the  Duchess  struggled  violently  and  raised 
itself  on  the  bier — a  terrible  cry  echoed  through  the 
forest.  Richard  started  awake  ;  he  felt  no  fear,  he 
only  loosened  his  sword  in  its  sheath  and  placed  it 
across  his  knees. 

Then  a  voice  from  the  bier,  like  the  voice  of  his 
wife,  cried  out,  "  What  ails  you,  Duke  Richard.  In  all 
countries  they  tell  of  your  daring.  They  say  that  from 
prime  to  compline  you  never  fear  any  living  person, 
and  now  behold  your  flesh  quivers  with  terror.  Come 
no  nearer,  Richard,  do  not  touch  me,  or  perchance  I 
shall  swoon  again." 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  cried  the  astonished  Duke. 
"  Are  you  my  own  wife  ?  were  you  not  dead  when  they 
placed  you  on  the  bier  to-day  ? " 

"  No ;  I  had  only  swooned  with  violent  thirst. 
Listen,  if  you  truly  love  me,  if  you  would  have  me 
alive  again,  do  what  I  ask.  At  the  entrance  of  the 
wood,  as  you  know,  there  is  a  fountain  of  delicious 
water — fetch  me  some." 

"  I  go,  sweet  wife,"  said   Richard,  and  he  instantly 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY.  317 

left  the  chapel.  But  he  had  not  gone  many  steps  when 
a  piercing  cry  came  from  the  building.  The  Duke  quickly 
retraced  his  steps  :  the  faithful  companion  of  his  watch 
lay  lifeless  on  the  floor  of  the  chapel.  The  bier  was 
empty  !  A  peal  of  mocking  laughter  rang  through  the 
air,  and  then  a  loud  voice  cried  out — 

"  Ho !  ho !  Duke  Richard,  Brudenor  has  made  a 
fool  of  you  this  time.  I  was  your  dearly-loved  wife — 
I — Brudenor.1  Ho!  ho!  ho!" 

"  Ah,  wicked  and  deceitful  creature,"  said  the  Duke. 
"  I  swear  by  the  God  who  made  me,  that  if  ever  you 
cross  my  path  again,  I  will  hew  you  in  pieces  with  my 
sword." 

Another  peal  of  laughter,  and  all  was  still. 

Richard  carefully  laid  the  body  of  his  knight  upon 
the  bier,  and  watched  beside  it  till  the  day  broke. 

When  the  hour  of  prime  arrived,  the  archbishop 
and  the  priests  returned  to  the  chapel  to  chant  the 
service  over  the  body  of  the  Duchess. 

"  Sing  no  more  psalms  for  my  wife,  my  Lord  Arch- 
bishop. The  great  devils  of  hell  have  carried  her 
away  ;"  and  the  Duke  told  the  night's  adventure. 

The  archbishop  tried  to  comfort  him.       "  Do  not 

1  An  evil  spirit  called  Brudenor  seems  to  have  played  many  tricks  OB 
Richard  the  Fearless. 


318  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS 

fear  or  doubt  my  liege,  we  know  that  the  devils  have 
power  both  by  night  and  by  day  to  tempt  Christians." 

"  Ah,  my  lord  archbishop,"  interrupted  Richard, 
bitterly,  "  but  I  have  been  so  foully  deceived.  I  swear 
by  the  splendour  of  heaven  I  will  not  take  another  wife 
for  seven  years  or  more." 

And  in  order  to  keep  his  promise — after  having 
buried  his  murdered  knight  with  great  pomp — Duke 
Richard  shut  himself  up  in  his  abbey  of  Fecamp,  of  which 
he  was  the  founder,  and  remained  there  in  seclusion. 

We  left  Rouen  one  fine  bright  morning  for  Les 
Andelys  ;  we  were  to  see  the  famous  Hotel  du  Grand 
Cerf  at  Le  Grand  Andely,  and  also  Chateau  Gaillard, 
one  of  the  most  picturesque  and  remarkable  castles  in 
Normandy.  The  Chateau  is  placed  on  the  Seine  be- 
tween Paris  and  Rouen,  and  the  town  of  Le  Petit 
Andely  lies  below  the  castle  walls. 

The  ruin  rises  proudly  from  the  summit  of  a  lofty 
chalk  cliff;  it  is  connected  only  on  one  side  with  the 
adjacent  hills  by  a  narrow  tongue  of  land. 

Richard  Cceur  de  Lion  in  defiance  of  the  treaty  of 
Louviers,  and  to  spite  his  rival  Philip  Augustus,  built 
this  famous  castle.  Tradition  says  Richard  was  his 
own  architect.  Delighted  with  his  pet  creation  he 


FROM  NORMANDY  AND  BRITTANY. 


319 


called  it  his  "  saucy  castle ;"  and  it  was  begun  and  finished 
in  one  year.  The  Archbishop  of  Rouen  excommuni- 
cated the  lion-hearted  king  for  building  this  fortress. 
The  donjon,  built  in  the  form  of  an  irregular  circle,  was 
of  great  strength.  It  contained  the  royal  apartments  ; 


the  wallb  are  more  than  fourteen  feet  thick.  It  is  only 
reasonable  to  believe  that  this  castle  would  have  lasted 
intact  till  the  present  day  if  man  had  not  destroyed 
his  own  handiwork.  When  Philip  Augustus  saw  the 
"  saucy  castle,"  he  swore  by  all  the  saints  that  he  would 
"  take  it  if  it  were  made  of  iron."  To  which  vaunting 
speech  Richard  made  answer,  "  I  would  hold  it  if  it 
were  made  of  butter." 


320  PICTURES  AND  LEGENDS. 

After  the  death  of  Richard,  Philip  besieged  Chateau 
Gaillard.  It  withstood  him  for  six  months,  and  the 
garrison  only  surrendered  under  pressure  of  starvation. 
With  a  garrison  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  men 
the  castle  afterwards  withstood  our  Henry  the  Fifth  for 
sixteen  months,  only  yielding  when  water  failed,  owing 
to  the  wearing  out  of  the  ropes  with  which  the  buckets 
were  sent  down  into  the  well. 

Chateau  Gaillard  remained  in  a  perfect  state  until 
1 606,  when  Henri  Quatre  dismantled  it  with  other 
fortresses. 

The  view  from  the  castle  is  very  fine,  commanding 
the  lovely  winding  river  for  miles.  It  has  been  the 
prison  of  many  celebrated  criminals  and  prisoners, 
among  them  the  unhappy  Marguerite  de  Bourgogne,  who 
is  said  to  have  been  strangled  in  its  vaults  by  the 
order  of  her  husband  Louis  the  Tenth. 


THE  END. 


